


Won't sleep

by orphan_account



Series: Here (with me) [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alien Biology, Alternate Universe - Aliens, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Friendship, I have no idea what else to put, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Romance, Rosewell!AU, UST, a lot of ust, and being sappy over each other, boners galore, but that's it rly, discussions of sexual situations, from a mortal stab wound, i say mortal stab wound but just to be clear, it's not rly that graphic, oh and i put the graphic violence tag just to be safe, pretty much on par with Roswell in case you're familiar with it, there is quite a bit of blood, there's no character death, they do a lot of mind melding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-07-28 20:26:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 48,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7655536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roswell!AU: After a situation at the pub escalates, Louis almost dies, but Harry is there to bring him back and nothing is ever the same again.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>"Niall, Isabel and me," Harry says, voice strained and trembling around the edges. "We’re...not from around here."</i><br/>Louis frowns. "Where then?"<br/>Harry’s hand is unsteady as it detaches from Louis’ hip, his fingers trembling as he folds them towards his palm - all but one which he uses to point upwards.<br/>Louis raises an eyebrow.<br/>"Up north?" he asks. "Like, Scotland?"<br/>Harry shakes his head and lifts his hand further.<br/>"Iceland?"<br/>Another shake and the finger goes higher.<br/>Something niggles at Louis’ brain but he refuses to acknowledge it, his mind shying away from the mere possibility.<br/>"Greenland?"<br/>But he already knows that that’s not it either. He sees Harry gulp and raise his finger just that tiny bit more.<br/>"You can’t mean- You- No." An incredulous laugh bubbles out of Louis, threadbare and shaky. "Are you telling me you’re- you’re an-an a-" He can barely bring himself to say it. "An alien?"<br/>Harry’s face is pinched, his eyes wide as he gives a jerky nod.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Won't sleep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dolce_piccante](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dolce_piccante/gifts).



> **Dear[dolce](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dolce_piccante/pseuds/dolce_piccante),** I hope you like what I came up with. I just wanted to say that I absolutely LOVED writing this and I hope you have at least half as much fun reading it as I had writing it.  
>  You’ll never believe it, but my own prompt #1 was a Roswell one, so when I saw that I’d received one in turn I simply HAD to pick it XD! It also completely got away from me, so I had to turn it into a series due to time restrictions. I'm rly sorry about that and hope you don't mind too much!
> 
> I also wanted to take the opportunity to again thank [Mist Midnight](http://mistmidnightblr.tumblr.com) and [Dysia](http://runtofollowthesun.tumblr.com) for their patience and for being all-round super lovely mods. Thank you for setting all of this up, I had a brilliant time participating in the exchange!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Some relevant notes:**
> 
>  
> 
> \- Although this is inspired by the TV series, I made quite a lot of changes and we'll get further away from the series as the story progresses. It's more of a remix, really. I did use a few quotes, so have fun spotting those ;)!
> 
> \- No prior knowledge of the TV series is necessary to understand this.
> 
> \- Everyone’s family members/situations are entirely different, so don't be confused by the strange names. 
> 
> \- Characters with the same name as Roswell characters are NOT to be confused. Though I did base some of my OCs on Roswell characters, they are by no means the same so don’t be bewildered when they don’t match up.
> 
> \- For the purpose of this story, I have moved Roswell to the UK and renamed it _Roswick_. This is, of course, an entirely fictional town along with its neighbouring towns, which all have bastardised names of places mentioned in the TV series. Roswick is situated in the far north, which would technically already be Scotland, but I took some creative licence and simply extended England a bit further north XD.
> 
> \- The setting of this story is now, meaning in 2016, so don’t be confused as neither the dates from the TV series, nor the age of the characters line up; Harry is 19 and Louis is 21.
> 
> \- The title of the story (and the series) is from [Here with me by Dido](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PSu5nAQ7uZw), which was Roswell’s intro song for all 3 seasons.
> 
> For further links and references please have a look at the End Notes.
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: This is pure fiction and does not, in any way, reflect on the people these characters are based on.

It’s a slow night and Louis is bored.

He’s been rubbing at the same spot for at least five minutes, listlessly grinding the damp dish towel against the stained wood. The bar needs a touch-up, he thinks, something that will keep the spilled beer and wine from soaking in and leaving more dark smudges.

It’s a Monday night, so Louis hadn’t expected the place to be packed or anything, but it’s been a while since it’s been this quiet. The bell from the kitchen cuts through Louis’ daze and he drops the towel, relieved to be rid of it as he makes his way to collect the order.

Ed waves at him with a spatula and Louis high-fives him as he picks up the plates.

“You can head out if you like,” he tells him. “It’s late and if any more orders come in I think I can handle them by myself.”

Ed gives him a dubious look.

“You can’t even work the frier, Tommo.”

Louis mock-scowls at him.

“Excuse you, Ed,” he huffs. “I think I can work the kitchen in my own establishment.”

Ed snorts. “Sure. Until you burn it all down. Pretty inconvenient, though, with your flat right upstairs.”

“Good to know that you have so much faith in me,” Louis grumbles.

Ed laughs and whacks him on the bum with a dish towel as Louis turns to go.

“Oi, careful with the goods!” Louis shouts. “I still need that!”

“No worries,” Ed says, giving him a toothy grin. “There’s enough padding there.”

“Ed,” Louis says seriously, lingering in the kitchen doorway.

“Yes?”

“You’re a wanker and I regret ever giving you this job.”

Ed, the bastard, just laughs at him.

Hands occupied, Louis sticks out his tongue instead of two fingers and shoulders his way back out through the kitchen door.

He delivers the orders to one of the few occupied tables, dodging a slanted hanging UFO and ignoring the fixed black stare of the tacky green alien doll staring at him from its place next to the front door. Seriously, if the tourists weren’t so into this stupid crap, Louis would’ve thrown it all out as soon as he’d taken over the pub. Sadly, people seem to enjoy it - even some of the locals - and somehow it’s the kitschy alien decor most of all that seems to constantly boost the The Ross and Well’s ratings. Apparently it’s _charming_.

Louis suppresses a snort.

He dumps the plates on the table with a smile that is entirely wasted on the couple, seeing as they’re completely invested in what looks like a wild collection of some of the more bizarre UFO-nut compilations out there. Of course they’re here because of the crash, Louis scoffs inwardly. What a joke.

“Enjoy your meal,” he says brightly, carefully avoiding crumpling the edge of a map marked with what has to be the biggest tourist traps in town.

Louis decides to leave them to it and is just about to depart, when the man in the booth looks up at him suddenly, a slightly crazy glint in his eye.

 _Here we go_ , Louis thinks.

“You’re a local, right?” the man asks, voice slightly hushed as though sharing a secret.

“Yeah,” Louis answers easily. He already knows where this is going, has done it one too many times already. “Family’s been here a few generations back, probably four or five I reckon.”

The man’s face lights up and his partner, a woman with crazy hair, leans closer across the table to properly involve herself.

“Then you must’ve, you know, heard something? From your family I mean,” the man says intently, voice lowering even further. “About the crash?”

Louis knows this part well.

“Well,” he says, drawing out the syllable and feigning a serious air. “There’s been a few things. All rumours, of course, but” Here, he lowers his voice to match the man’s and leans a little lower. “It’s all rather dodgy, you know. Lots of things that don’t line up - very hush-hush.”

The man and woman nod solemnly and Louis barely manages to keep a straight face. It’s horrible, he knows, but he can’t resist. It’s the only bit of fun he gets around here.

“Would you know a good place to find out more?” the woman asks, jumping into the conversation. “We were thinking of checking out the Centre down the street, it’s supposed to hold the biggest collection in all of the UK.”

Louis bites his tongue to keep from cackling.

“Oh yeah, good idea,” he says instead. “You should definitely do that.”

Geoff, who owns what he calls the UFO Centre just a few houses down, will enjoy their flavour of crazy. He’s a nice fella, Geoff, but completely gaga as far as most people are concerned. Full of conspiracy theories about the crash and everything alien in general. The tourists lap it up, of course, always out for another sensation. It’s one of the reasons Louis begrudgingly resisted renaming the menu from an honestly cringe-worthy list of alien puns. He still winces a little whenever someone orders something with a particularly outrageous name.

The man is about to say something more when, thankfully, the door to the pub swings open and Eleanor breezes in, bringing with her a gust of fresh air.

Louis almost falls into her arms in relief.

“Excuse me,” he says to the couple, practically flying across the room to greet her.

“El, thank fuck,” he says as he reaches her and accepts a quick hug. “I’m this close to stabbing myself in the eye with one of those ghastly straws Liam insisted I get.”

Eleanor, the traitor, laughs and picks up one of the offensive straws. It’s of the neon green variety, a tiny, cuteseyfied version of a stereotypical alien figurine waving cheerfully from its position in the middle of the hard plastic straw. Amy, Liam’s mum, owns a small business specialising in distributing all things cute-alien, which is probably one of the reasons Louis owns so much more than even his extraterrestrial themed pub justifies.

“But why, Lou,” El croons theatrically, waving the straw in his face. “It’s _so cute_.”

Louis swats it away irritably.

“Piss off,” he tells her with feeling.

Eleanor laughs some more and dumps her book bag on a bar stool before sliding onto the one next to it. She’s got that strained look around her eyes that tells Louis she must’ve been studying in the library for most of the afternoon and evening. It does nothing to dim her cheerful smile, however.

“You love me,” she sings, chucking the straw at Louis’ head.

He catches it and discards it with a look of disgust.

“And now give me a drink before I lose it,” Eleanor goes on, slumping dramatically over the bar. “I can feel my brain leaking from my ears.”

Louis raises his eyebrows, but obediently grabs a pint glass and holds it under one of the taps.

“I told you biochemistry was a bad idea,” he says, topping the pint off with some foam and sliding it across the bar towards Eleanor’s elbow. “It sounds like far too much work.”

El grabs the pint, clutching it like a lifeline and taking a deep drag, smearing foam all the way up to her nose. Louis shakes his head at her and hands her a napkin when she emerges from her glass. She takes it with an impish smile and wipes her face.

“I _like_ my subject, thank you,” she says, crumpling the napkin and throwing that at Louis as well.

He dodges and glares. “What is it with you?”

“Stop giving me sass,” El says, reaching for her pint once more. “It’s not my fault you’re bored.”

“No,” Louis relents. “But it’s your job to entertain me, now that you’re here.”

“Oh my god,” El groans. “Whatever have I done to deserve this.”

Louis picks up the crumpled napkin where it landed across the bar on the liquor rack and chucks it back at her.

“Shut up and drink your pint,” he orders. “Then give me the latest gossip or you’re barred.”

El, for all her show to the contrary, almost immediately lights up and launches into an account of the latest drama surrounding her uni colleagues. The easter holidays, it appears, seem to encourage complicated love triangles rather than studying and Louis listens with genuine interest.

They’ve always been terrible gossips, the three of them. Liam often likes to pretend that he disapproves, but he remembers the individual dramas better than any of them.

It’s a little strange, sometimes, hearing all these stories about people that he used to see every day in school. He’d been pretty popular, always surrounded by people he often couldn’t even remember the name of, but all of them certainly knew his. And Louis had loved it, always loves being the centre of attention, which is one of the reasons why leaving it all behind had been so hard.

Suddenly, Louis had to worry about bills - not just his personal ones, but the expenses of the pub as well. He had to make list upon list to help with budgeting, had to take a course in bookkeeping and painstakingly teach himself - or more often than not, learn through trial and error. There had been so many responsibilities and he’d felt so _grown up_ , painfully so.

At the very beginning, when he’d just taken over the pub after his granddad had passed away and he was left with hardly any guidance, Louis had sometimes found himself sitting on his own, poring over the books and calculating expenses versus income while his friends had been out at the club without a worry in the world.

And Louis knows it’s unfair, the type of frustration he used to feel at it all. It’s not like Liam and El don’t have enough on their plates with studying. Studying is _hard_ , Louis knows that better than anyone. He’d certainly been crap at it.

After having to repeat his A-levels and finally managing to pass on the second go, Louis had decided that he never wanted to do any of it ever again. The thought of having to choose a subject and stick with it, to sit around cramming and sweating his way through exams-

Just no.

He doesn’t regret his decision, doesn’t regret taking on the pub instead of selling it. But sometimes it still stings a bit, this feeling of disconnect and the fact that his two best friends get to experience something together that he’ll never be a part of.

“Where’s Payno anyway?” Louis asks then, once El has finished telling him all about the girl in her course who got caught giving her boyfriend’s best friend a blowjob at a party. “Haven’t seen him since yesterday evening.”

“Oh, his mum got a new shipment in and Li’s helping her sort through it.”

Louis barely suppresses a grimace. He knows exactly what that means - even more cute aliens and pink UFOs that he’ll have no way of refusing.

Ed, who clearly caught the tail-end of their conversation, claps Louis on the back as he passes him behind the bar.

“Sounds great,” he says, grinning. “We can definitely use some more space ships over the bar, it’s looking a little empty.”

Louis first glares up at the string of UFO-shaped fairy lights that he and Liam had struggled to string up just a few weeks ago, then directs his unamused stare at Ed.

“Have you quite finished,” Louis says.

Ed cackles and has the nerve to tuck the previously discarded alien-straw behind Louis’ ear before quickly darting out of reach, laughing like a maniac as Louis curses at his retreating back.

On his way out, Ed almost collides with the gangly figure of Niall Horan and Louis’ gaze instantly darts over his shoulder. Sure enough, Harry Styles enters just behind him, giving Ed the same type of pretty but reserved curve of a smile that he does everyone.

Louis snatches the alien-straw from behind his ear and quickly drops it behind the bar.

“Oooh, what have we here,” Eleanor says, craning her neck to look over her shoulder. “I bet you another pint that Harry Styles will spend the whole time trying to spear you with his eyes again.”

Louis snaps his gaze away from where he’s been watching Harry and Niall slide into one of the more secluded booths.

“You’re delusional,” Louis says firmly. “He doesn’t give two shits about me.”

Eleanor gives an inelegant snort. “Yeah right and I’m the virgin Mary. Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

Louis can’t help it, he glances up again and finds Harry already looking back. Their eyes meet and lock instantly in a brief burst of heat, before Louis tears his gaze away once more.

“He’s just polite,” Louis insists, grabbing the abandoned dish towel from earlier to give his hands something to do. “He probably feels like he needs to acknowledge me because we went to the same school.”

Eleanor buries her face into her palms.

“Oh my _god_ ,” she groans again as though Louis’ very words are torture. “You are the most oblivious person on the entire fucking _planet_ and I’m friends with _Liam_.”

“I’m telling you,” Louis says stiffly. “You’re seeing things.”

“And _I’m_ telling _you_ that Harry Styles has been in love with you from when you were both still in nappies and you’re too ridiculous to notice.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “I was in year nine when he came to our school, that hardly constitutes as nappies, don’t you think?”

Eleanor groans again. “You’re missing the point!”

Louis drops the towel and petulantly folds his arms across his chest.

“There _is_ no point,” he snaps. “There’s only you and Liam imagining things.”

“Exactly, _Liam_ !” Eleanor exclaims. “Even _he’s_ noticed! What does that say about you, I wonder!”

“Can we drop it,” Louis says, flatly, and something in his tone must’ve alerted Eleanor because she does.

“Fine,” she says, pushing her empty pint glass across the bar. “Have it your way.”

Louis snatches up the glass, irrationally irritated, and fills it once more. He refuses to let his eyes wander back to Harry’s table.

There’s no way that El is right; the notion that Harry is even aware of Louis’ existence most of the time is laughable. Louis can count the amount of times he and Harry exchanged any words beyond a brief greeting on one hand and still have fingers left over.

Harry has always been quiet, one could almost say withdrawn. He keeps to himself and seems to have no other friends apart from his sister and Niall. He’s always been a straight A student, unfailingly polite and very skilled at flying under the radar.

He’s never been to any parties that Louis knows of, never got caught drinking in anyone’s backyard or smoking behind the changing rooms. The few times that Louis tried to engage with him, Harry had instantly turned awkward and looked as though he wanted to be anywhere else but in Louis’ presence.

Admittedly, it had stung a bit (or a lot), especially since Louis had been so used to people wanting to be around him. But maybe that’s what put Harry off in the first place. In any case, Louis had stopped trying, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

Though it doesn’t help that Harry is ridiculously beautiful and Louis has always had a hard time keeping his eyes off him. But that’s all it is; aesthetic appreciation.

Annoyed with his own thoughts, Louis pushes them firmly to the back of his mind and gives the pub a cursory glance. The UFO-nut couple are still engrossed in their map, the three teenagers at the very back are quietly giggling over cat videos on their smartphones and the two older men who have spent most of their time here in a heated discussion consisting mostly of harsh whispers are still at it. In fact, the discussion seems to have morphed into a full-blown argument and Louis frowns at them. Neither of them looks like someone Louis would like to get closer acquainted with.

Eleanor catches his gaze, following it with her own. Her expression is serious when she turns back.

“Jesus, they look like thugs,” she says, careful to keep her voice down.

Louis nods. “Yeah, I know. Not much I can do about that though. Not like I can throw them out for having an argument. They’ve been quiet enough until now.”

Which is, of course, when the whole thing escalates and goes to shit.

The stockier of the two men suddenly jumps to his feet, knocking over his untouched pint, beer flooding the table top and cascading over the edge and onto the floor. The background murmur of conversation is startled into silence.

“Where is the fuckin’ money?!” the stockier of the men roars and Louis shrinks back against the bar, damp rag clutched in his fist.

The burlier man’s face is a grimace of anger as he reaches out to grab the shorter man by the neck. Light reflects off the blade of a knife and Burly flinches away, grunting in pain as blood blooms across his sleeve.

Louis remains frozen, partly in shock and partly to keep from drawing attention to himself. Maybe if he keeps quiet enough, the thugs will take it outside and he can call the police then. For now, his patrons seem safe enough, huddled a good distance away in their booths and Louis is determined to keep it that way.

Across the room, Harry’s eyes are wide and frightened and Louis meets them with his own, trying his best to look reassuring. There’s just something wrong about seeing Harry looking like that and the surge of protectiveness welling up inside Louis’ chest makes his breath stick to his throat for a moment.

“No!” Stocky roars and Louis’ attention snaps back to the two men in time to see Stocky lurching towards the bar. “No coppers!”

Eleanor’s phone clatters to the floor and Louis doesn’t think, doesn’t hesitate as he abandons the rag on the counter and leaps forward to put himself between El and Stocky. His beady eyes hold a frantic glint and Louis suddenly realises that he’s scared.

Which is bad. Very bad. Nothing good has ever come from frightened people in combination with lethal weapons.

It all happens in a blur of motion. The smell of beer is strong, the floor slick with it as Stocky loses his footing and stumbles straight into Louis, bearing him backwards past the edge of the bar. Eleanor cries out in alarm. Louis thinks it might’ve been his name, but there’s a rushing in his ears and Louis wonders if the throbbing in his head is the sound of his heart hammering away against his ribcage.

At first, Louis doesn’t feel a thing. Which is strange, right? He should be feeling _something_.

Stocky is fucking heavy and the momentum of him crashing into Louis or the brutal grip he has on Louis’ arm- surely it should hurt?

Stocky’s eyes are so wide they’re all but bulging out of their sockets and Louis stares at them, uncomprehending. He looks down, expecting the knife pressed against him, squeezed somewhere in-between their bodies, but there’s nothing there, just Stocky’s meaty hand drenched in red.

“Oh,” Louis breathes and pain explodes in his abdomen.

The small sound snaps Stocky from his reverie and he wrenches his hand back, the blade sliding free from where it had sliced into Louis’ stomach. Blood gushes from the wound, soaking Louis’ thin jumper. Stocky’s grip disappears and Louis’ knees give in.

There’s an ugly sound and Louis thinks it might have been his head hitting the floor. Then voices, frantic and rising in volume, but he can’t understand them. His blood is hot and sticky against his palms, his life pouring out with every beat of his still wild heart. Darkness is creeping in from the corners of his eyes, the ceiling blurry above him.

He closes his eyes.

“Louis.” Something soft brushes his cheek, gentle at first, then more insisted. “Louis, look at me.” The touch leaves his cheek and slides into his hair. The ache there dims and the looming darkness recedes just a little. “I need you to open your eyes for me, please.”

The voice is deep, close and murmur-soft. Louis forces his heavy lids to obey and light pierces his aching skull.

“Good,” the voice breathes, pure relief edging the word. “That’s good.”

It’s Harry, Louis thinks, the blurry shape above him fading in and out of focus.

Harry’s hand is still cradling his throbbing head and Louis leans into the touch without thought. Someone is heaving rasping, gurgling breaths and the back of Louis’ throat tastes like metal.

“I know it hurts but I’ll make it better, I swear,” Harry murmurs, face so close Louis can feel his breath, see the green of his eyes. “I just need you to look at me. Can you do that for me?”

 _Yes_ , Louis thinks deliriously, the darkness already tugging at him once more.

Everything hurts and he’s _cold_.

_Is this what dying feels like?_

The world swims out of focus once more and Louis expects darkness, instead there’s a flash of light. Images flicker through his mind, disjointed and hazy.

Their old school, Harry aged 12 holding hands with his twin sister as Louis passes them in the hallway, Louis scowling at the disaster that is the knitted jumper his mum gave him for his 14th birthday, Harry standing alone at the edge of the football pitch as Louis straightens from where he’d bent down to tighten his laces.

Warmth floods Louis’ chest, spreading out and tingling down his limbs, taking the freezing cold and leaving each and every nerve ending buzzing in its wake.

The images come faster, there’s Louis aged 16, 13, 18- chatting to Eleanor, playing footie, laughing with Liam, stress smoking before an exam-

The world slams back into focus and Harry slumps forward, panting, soft curls brushing Louis’ cheek.

 _He smells so nice,_ Louis thinks dazedly, turns his head towards him without thinking.

“Harry!”

He can’t see him, but Louis recognises Niall’s voice. It’s sharper than Louis has ever heard it before, few as the times have been. Louis blinks, but the confusing jumble inside his head doesn’t become any clearer. Above Harry’s shoulder he can see Eleanor, face pale and arm held by Niall in a tight grip.

“Harry,” Niall says again. “Keys, now!”

Harry heaves himself up, breath still heavy and curls sticking to his forehead. He takes his hand away and it’s only then that Louis realises he’s been holding on to it, clutching it where it has been pressed flat to his stomach. Both their hands are sticky with blood.

Freaked out beyond belief, Louis struggles to sit up.

He expects pain, but there is none.

Harry digs out what looks like car keys and throws them at Niall, who catches them out of the air.

“Hurry the feck up, will ya,” Niall grits out.

Harry turns back, meets Louis’ no doubt lost gaze, before looking around wildly.

There are voices beyond the bar, someone is crying and a biting breeze wafts in from the back door, wide open and creaking with every salty draught. It’s supposed to storm tonight.

Outside, the howl of sirens is drawing closer.

“Harry,” Louis says, unable to form any other word. His voice is raspy and the metallic taste of blood lingers on his tongue.

Harry catches his gaze briefly, before sitting up and grabbing a bottle of ketchup from the counter. He brings it down hard on the wooden edge and Louis flinches as it breaks, ketchup spraying every which way. Harry upends the broken bottle over Louis’ abdomen, covering the drying blood stains.

“You fell when he crashed into you and broke the ketchup,” Harry says. His words aren’t pleading, but his tone is, and so is the imploring look in his eyes. He looks as shocked and terrified as Louis feels. “Please don’t say anything.”

And then he’s gone, ushered out the back door by Niall’s insistent tugging, both of them swallowed by the darkness of the narrow alley outside.

*

“And you’re absolutely positive you haven’t seen these men before?”

Louis suppresses the urge to fidget as DI Valenti fixes him with another intent look. He knows one wrong move, one twitch of his face, would be enough to raise the DI’s suspicion and Louis has never been too fond of being the target of Valenti’s unflinching gazes. He has the tendency to look at everyone as though they’re a criminal.

Unfortunately, Valenti has never been Louis’ biggest fan - especially not now after that mess with his daughter. Louis had hoped he wouldn’t have to come face to face with DI Valenti again for a very, _very_ long time. Clearly, he’d been hoping in vain.

“I told you, Detective Inspector, I’ve never seen them around here before,” Louis says, plastering the most innocent expression on his face he can master. “I wish I could help more, but there’s nothing else I can tell you. I was quite out of it for a bit there - that bump on the head, you know.”

“So all you saw was that one of the men pulled out a knife, threatened the other one with it and then bolted for the door when he realised Miss Calder was about to call the police,” Valenti repeats. Louis nods along obediently, trying his best not to let Valenti’s stony expression get to him. “And on his way out, the man with the knife ran into you, pushed you to the ground and as you fell, you broke this bottle of ketchup.”

Valenti brandishes the broken bottle as though presenting Louis with a murder weapon. Louis forces his expression to remain neutral and takes care not to let his gaze linger.

“That’s right.”

 _Don’t look down_ , Louis thinks fervently, his jumper pulling at the skin of his stomach with every breath.

He’d picked up the dish towel once again as he’d gotten to his feet, his hands still a little raw from where he’d frantically scrubbed at them to get rid of as much of the blood as he could before DI Valenti had walked onto the scene. He presses it a little closer to his chest.

Valenti holds his gaze for another nerve wrecking moment, before finally relaxing his stance. He straightens himself, spine ramrod straight as he towers over Louis in all his intimidating glory.

“Alright,” he says, finally. “If you remember anything else, you know where to find me. We’ll check the CCTV footage, but your pub is quite the blind spot. I’ll have someone look into that.”

“Thank you,” Louis says, hoping he doesn’t sound as relieved as he feels that it’s finally over.

Valenti signals the sergeant and the two constables still milling about. Louis watches the sergeant detach herself from Eleanor with another pat to the shoulder and feels worry twisting his insides. He hadn’t really got a chance to talk to El before the police descended. He can only hope that Niall had done a good enough job holding her back.

Harry is depending on him. And after saving his life, Louis is going to do whatever it takes to protect him.

Even if he doesn’t have the faintest idea of what the fuck is going on.

*

Once everyone is finally gone and the door safely locked, the sudden silence that descends makes Louis’ ears ring.

His nerves are still thrumming from whatever Harry had done when he’d healed him - _healed him!_ \- Louis still can’t quite wrap his head around that, doesn’t know how he’s ever going to wrap his head around something like this. His limbs feel heavy and numb with shock. His thoughts are all over the place and far too slow, forming in tangles and sticking together incomprehensibly. Louis wishes for it all to stop, just for a moment, just long enough for him to get his bearings back and gather his scattered brain.

Eleanor is curled up in one of the booths, ashen-faced and unusually small and Louis makes his way over, slowly. She shifts obediently to make room for him as he slides in beside her.

“Hey, “ Louis says, voice raspy. He clears his throat, the taste of metal lingering at the back of his tongue and he swallows around it, determined to wash it away. “Hey, you alright?”

“I’m okay,” El says, her fingers unsteady but firm where they curl around Louis’ arm. “Just a bit shaken up.” She sits up a bit, eyes intent as they search Louis’ face. He doesn’t much like where this is going. “Are you?”

Louis can smell the cloying sweetness of ketchup, he practically reeks with it. _Better than blood_ , he thinks a bit hysterically.

“I’m fine.”

El gives him a look.

“Really,” she says and Louis knows that tone. “So will you tell me what happened back there?”

Louis forces a shrug, his muscles stiff with tension.

“You saw what happened,” he says, not breaking eye-contact. If he managed to keep it together in front of Valenti, he sure as hell can do the same with El. He hopes so, anyway. “That guy pushed me, I fell and broke that stupid ketchup bottle.”

Eleanor’s eyes are bright, her lips a tight line.

“And Harry?” she says sharply. “What was he doing there? With you?”

“Nothing.” Louis remains firmly in place, refuses to shift and give away his discomfort. His guilt. “He just helped me up, that’s all.”

“You’re full of shit, Louis,” Eleanor says, but her words hold no edge. She just sounds tired.

Louis bites his tongue. He reaches out tentatively and is relieved when Eleanor doesn’t shake him off when he drapes an arm around her.

“Listen, we’re both tired and in shock,” he says, rubbing her arm. “We just need to calm down, have a good night’s sleep. I’ll drive you home, yeah?”

El sighs.

“No, you stay here. You said you hit your head and you’ve had enough action for tonight. I’ll just call a cab.”

She gives him another squeeze, then carefully frees herself from his hold. Louis zones out as Eleanor makes the call, plucking absently at his jumper to unstick it from his grimy skin. God, he needs a shower.

When he looks up some indeterminable time later, Eleanor is watching him intently and Louis feels ridiculously exposed. It’s so weird, having secrets from El, _lying_ to El…

Eleanor and Liam have been a constant in Louis’ life since kindergarten and there’s never been any secrets between them. Even when this whole Kylie thing culminated in a huge sexual identity crisis related drama, they were the first to know about it, the first to squish Louis between them in a group hug and feed him ice cream as he cried on their shoulders.

There must be something in his expression, because El is back in his space in a heartbeat, hugging him tightly.

“Whenever you’re ready, babe,” is all she says, squeezing him.

Louis doesn’t reply, just hugs her back and wishes for this day to finally end.

*

Louis’ eyes snap open, his heart hammering in his chest.

He scrambles into a sitting position, the sheets clinging to his sweat soaked skin even as he shivers in the cool night air. His t-shirt is drenched and so is his hair. Breathing hard, Louis wipes a shaking hand across his forehead, before grabbing his t-shirt and peeling it off his body. He throws it onto the floor.

Drawing the covers around his bare shoulders, Louis sucks air into his lungs, carefully counting every in and exhale. He thinks he read somewhere that that’s supposed to help.

It does, a bit, and Louis feels some of his tension ease. He draws his legs up, hugging them close to his chest and lowers his sweat-slick forehead to his knees. Then he breathes some more.

He can’t have slept more than a couple of hours. He certainly feels as though he hasn’t slept at all. Which actually would’ve been preferable to the lingering terror that now sits deeply in his bones, the nightmare still fresh in his mind. Louis can still see Stocky’s crazy eyes, can feel the knife as it slices into him.

He shudders and instinctively presses his palm to his skin. It’s clammy but smooth, unharmed. No wound, no blood-

Louis takes another deep breath and lets it out slowly.

He gives himself another minute, then straightens his spine. There’s a lingering tremor in his limbs and his hands still feel raw from where he’d scrubbed the floor before finally dragging himself upstairs to his flat and into his bed. But there’s no way he could’ve left that stain behind the bar, not with the amount of blood that had been mixed with the ketchup.

Dried blood looks nothing like ketchup, Louis found out. It’s not something he ever wished to know.

He can still smell it now, the sickeningly sweet scent of it, the memory of it lingering even though Louis had viciously scrubbed himself down during his shower earlier.

Unable to keep still a moment longer, Louis throws off the covers and rises on shaky legs.

The room is chilly, but Louis ignores the goosebumps rising on his skin. He stumbles towards the window, wrenching it open and letting the biting sea breeze in.

It’s strong, the rain coming down hard; the storm is in full force. He can taste salt on his lips, his tongue dry as he rasps it across his chapped lips. He should probably go and put something on.

But when he moves to turn around, he catches sight of something bright - a silvery glow. It’s a testament to Louis’ state of mind that he only notices it now, because there’s no way to miss it really, not when it slices through the darkness like this.

Licking his lips again, Louis slowly lowers his gaze. His breath stutters in his lungs, his eyes wide as he stares at his abdomen.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

His hand shoots back to his skin, prodding carefully at the silver edges, but his skin doesn’t feel any different there. He isn’t sure if the rushing in his ears is from the storm outside or the one in his head.

“Fuck,” he says again as his treacherous knees fold beneath him for the second time in so many hours.

Because right there on his stomach is a glowing silver handprint in the shape of Harry Styles’ hand.

*

The streets are still wet when Louis steps outside, plastic bag clutched to his chest. He leaves through the back door, making his way down the dingy alley next to the pub, passing smelly, overflowing bins and stains he rather not know the origin of.

The sky is overcast and there’s a sharp wind wafting up from the coastline, but judging by the light it’ll probably clear up by midday.

He finds his car where he left it, parked a little haphazardly just around the corner. It’s old, passed down to him from his mum when he’d got his license two years ago. It’s a faded sky blue, paint chipped and metal dented in several places. The rearview mirror is weighed down by dozens of stupid trinkets that clink together every time he starts the engine.

Eleanor calls it a death trap and, to be quite honest, Louis isn’t quite sure it’d pass an extensive road safety test, but he loves that car and it’s not like he aspires to drive it all the way to London or something. It’s enough to get him around town and maybe into the next one over and that’s enough for Louis.

He unlocks the boot, jiggling his key _just so_ to make the lock unjam and hastily throws the bunched up plastic bag in, before slamming the lid shut once more.

Rolling his eyes at himself, Louis takes a deep breath and forces himself to relax. Seriously, it’s like he’s trying to dispose of a body or something. His blood and ketchup drenched jumper hardly qualifies.

Even so, he needs to get rid of it - and by that he means burn it. It’s the best and most thorough disposal he can think of and he’s not taking any chances - especially after having spent over an hour on his knees last night scrubbing the floor behind the counter.

He’ll have to drive a little further down the coast and out of town, but thankfully remote places are easy to come by this far north and Louis is quite positive that if he _did_ have an actual body he’d manage just fine.

It’s not a very reassuring thought.

*

The walk to his mum’s house is a short one and Louis is grateful for the chilly ocean breeze belting him in the face. He hadn’t really managed to fall back asleep after his discovery of the silver handprint and ended up dozing restlessly on the couch to the backdrop of crap early morning telly.

Despite everything, he feels wired.

A million emotions are battling inside him and his head is a jumble of questions. He can’t stop thinking about what happened, about the impossibility of it, but, most of all, he can’t stop thinking about Harry.

He’d saved Louis’ _life_.

And not just that. Somehow, Harry had connected them and literally pulled him back from death’s door. Louis had _felt_ him. He just wishes that his memories of it weren’t so fuzzy.

The whole thing is insane, _Louis_ is insane, because the thing is - the crazy, unbelievable fact is - that Louis wants to feel it again.

*

Louis’ mum takes one look at him, Danny perched half asleep on her hip, and immediately grasps his hand.

“Come in,” she says. “I’ll make us a cuppa and you can tell me all about it.”

There goes Louis’ plan of gently easing her into the conversation. He wants to be the one to tell her about what happened, doesn’t want her to find out about it through gossip. But the fact that Louis hasn’t even opened his mouth yet and his mum already knows something’s up is pretty discouraging to be honest. He thought he was a better actor than that.

To be fair, though, his mum operates some special family-related sixth sense, so there’s some hope left he supposes.

They enter the kitchen and Ellie squeals when she sees him, stretching out her little arms towards him. She’s sitting in her high-chair by the small kitchen table and seems much more awake than her brother. No surprise there; Ellie always seems to run on some hidden reserve of never-ending energy. Mum always says she reminds him of Louis when he was little.

Louis smiles at her and gently lifts her into his arms.

“Hello, love,” he coos, nuzzling her downy hair and blowing a small raspberry on her cheek. “How’s my favourite sister?”

His mum smiles at them as she one-handedly puts on the kettle and takes out two cups. She throws in the tea bags and Louis settles in at the table, softly bouncing Ellie on his lap.

She puts the readied cup down in front of him, splash of milk and all, and shifts Danny into a more comfortable position. He’s blinking sleepily, thumb in mouth, and Louis knows he’ll be out like a light in no time. Danny spends the majority of his time sleeping, usually only waking up when Ellie makes enough of a ruckus to disturb him.

Louis had always wanted siblings growing up, so when his mum had told him that she’s trying for a baby with his step dad he’d been thrilled. Especially when it turned out that she was expecting twins.

“So,” his mum says. “What happened?”

Louis looks down at Ellie, booping her nose and making her squeal happily.

“Why do you think something happened?”

His mum rolls her eyes.

“Please, Boo,” she says and Louis makes a face at the old nickname. “You look like you haven’t slept a wink. Is this about Kylie again?”

“No,” he says, thoroughly sick of the subject. “It’s got nothing to do with her.”

It feels as though he’s been talking about nothing else this past month, dissecting every little thing with Liam, with Eleanor, with his mum… And Kylie just keeps calling him, keeps coming round to ‘talk about it’ and Louis is just so, _so_ done with it all.

“Is she still hanging on?” his mum asks, a concerned twist to her mouth.

She and Kylie had always got on well and though his mum would never say it, Louis knows that she’s sorry they’ve broken up.

“I haven’t seen her in a few days, but she keeps texting.” Louis sighs, bouncing Ellie and leaning in to give her an Eskimo kiss. She slaps her tiny hands on his cheeks and gives him a toothless grin. “I don’t know what else to tell her.”

His mum hums, gently rocking a now sleeping Danny, and takes a sip of tea.

“Do you think it would help if I talked to her?”

Louis shakes his head.

“I have no idea.”

“Maybe I could accidentally run into her…”

Louis laughs. “So sly, mum.”

She grins.

Ellie starts fussing in his lap and Louis extends a leg to catch her blanket with his toe, dragging it closer and gently setting her down. She immediately starts happily smashing two wooden blocks together.

Danny, thankfully, is a deep sleeper and doesn’t even twitch in mum’s arms.

“So what I wanted to talk to you about,” Louis starts hesitantly, his eyes never leaving Ellie. This will be a lot easier if he doesn’t have to look his mum in the eye. “There was kind of an incident? Last night at the pub.”

His mum is immediately alert, her spine stiffening despite Danny still sprawled out on her chest.

“What happened?”

“Nothing really, don’t worry,” Louis says quickly. “I just wanted to tell you before you hear some gossip or something and think it was worse than it actually is.”

“What happened, Louis?”

“There were these two men,” Louis says carefully. “They were having an argument and it got a little out of hand. One of them had a knife-”

“Oh my god!” his mum gasps, reaching for his hand again and squeezing it tightly. “Are you alright?”

“I told you, mum, nothing happened,” he says, trying to sound as soothing as he can manage. “He saw El tyring to call the police, got scared and bolted. On the way out he ran into me and knocked me over.”

“Oh my _god_!” his mum says again.

“It’s alright, mum,” he says, pressing her hand. He forces himself to go on in a light voice. “I’m fine. I just fell and broke a bottle of ketchup. Got covered in the stuff. Bloody annoying, I’ll have to bin that jumper. Was my favourite as well.”

 _I almost died_ . Louis doesn’t say. _I almost died but then Harry brought me back._

*

When Louis returns, it’s to find a posh Land Rover parked in front of the pub. Harry is leaning against it, fingers fidgety as they tug on the scarf in his hair; his eyes dart back and forth along the street.

Louis’ steps still. Harry’s hands drop to his side as he catches sight of him.

They stare at each other, unmoving.

Slowly, Louis steps closer and Harry straightens himself.

“Hi,” he says, his deep voice soft and barely audible in the space between them.

“Hi,” Louis says.

He feels awkward, out of place inside his own skin.

“I wanted to see how you are,” Harry says.

Louis shuffles his feet, tugging at the hem of his hoodie. The handprint on his stomach tingles.

“I’m fine, I-” Louis clears his throat, coughs. “I’m fine.”

He glances up at Harry through his lashes, feeling ridiculously shy.

“Good,” Harry says. “That’s good.” He bites his lip and Louis’ eyes follow helplessly. It comes out red and wet when Harry releases it from his teeth. “I thought- I thought we could...talk? I mean, we should? Maybe...if you want...”

It takes Louis’ brain a moment to catch up. His eyes snap up, cheeks suddenly uncomfortably hot.

“Yes!” It comes out louder than intended and much too high. Louis wonders what the hell is wrong with him. He coughs again and drags the tattered remains of his composure around himself. “Yes, I’d love to. Talk, I mean.”

Harry smiles, a tentative little thing and Louis’ head swims with how much he wants to touch him. Or have Harry touch him. Just anything, anything at all to make them feel connected again.

A tense silence descends, neither of them moving and Louis shifts. Again.

He stuffs his hands into the front pocket of his hoody and tilts his head to where his sorry excuse of a car is parked. The gesture isn’t as smooth as he’d hoped, making his fringe droop into his eyes. Louis hastily reaches up to fix it, his fingers lingering as they fiddle with his hair. It’s always been a nervous gesture and El and Liam have made fun of it on countless occasions.

“I was just about to go to the beach, actually,” Louis says, fingers still combing nervously. “We could take my car? It’s-It’s right over there.”

 _Smooth_ , Louis thinks, inwardly rolling his eyes at himself.

“Okay,” Harry says softly, eyes flickering over Louis’ face before dropping to the ground.

Louis takes a deep breath. He forces himself to move, legs jerky as he leads the way, Harry following slowly behind.

 _I can do this_ , Louis tells himself firmly.

He unlocks the driver’s side first. The lock on the passenger’s side has been broken for as long as Louis can remember, making him have to splay across the seat inside to reach the door and unlatch it from the inside.

He hastily grabs some stray bags of alien-paraphernalia he’s been storing there and hastily throws them into the back to make room for Harry. Louis watches as he folds long limbs into the cramped space of his car, knees knocking into the dashboard as he narrowly misses braining himself against the roof.

Louis bites down a smile. Even though he’d never admit it out loud, he knows he’s not the tallest person around and even he sometimes struggles to keep from banging his head or bruising his elbows in here.

Next to him, Harry wriggles in his seat and Louis glances over just as Harry unearths one of those blasted alien-straws that had undoubtedly just been poking him in the bum.

Harry blinks at it, lips suspiciously close to pulling into a grin.

“Cute,” he says and Louis can feel his cheeks heating.

He snatches the straw off him, blindly throwing it towards the back seat, before hastily turning the key in the ignition and putting the car into gear.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, desperately grateful when the radio springs to life, filling the loaded air with an almost painfully cheerful pop-beat.

Steering the car away from the curb and into the still relatively quiet street, Louis wriggles the gear stick to get it to comply as he picks up speed.

They don’t say anything as Louis drives them along the coast, the road stretching before them and a few weak rays of sunlight breaking through the cloud bank. The sea is still rough, signs of last night’s storm littering the rocks in the form of splintered driftwood and other random things that have been previously swept out to sea and now returned to shore.

Louis forces himself to keep his eyes fixed straight ahead, letting the music from the radio wash over him. He can feel Harry’s gaze more than once, surreptitious glances that make Louis’ skin prickle and the handprint on his stomach burn.

He keeps his eyes fixed on the road.

*

When Louis finally steers off the road, the sun has climbed higher in the sky and there is not another soul in sight.

The car struggles as Louis forces it over rocky ground, the clapped out suspension jostling them uncomfortably in their seats and the trinkets on the rearview mirror go crazy. He thinks a little wistfully of Harry’s much sturdier Land Rover.

Louis parks haphazardly by a group of jagged rocks, the uneven ground giving way to rough sand in a downwards slope. The hills are bright green, the grass lush from last night’s rain and the promise of summer. Even so, the wind bites sharpy at Louis’ cheeks once he throws open the car door, scrambling from the driver’s seat with stiff limbs and a numb arse.

Harry does the same, stumbling slightly before cracking his spine and stretching his arms over his head. Louis fiddles with his fringe and when Harry turns his head and catches his gaze, he’s quick to look away.

He might have overdone it a bit, Louis thinks, driving them a little further than probably necessary. There’s absolutely nothing around them for miles, nothing but rocks and grass and sea. But then he thinks of the bloodied jumper still scrunched up in the boot of the car and reconsiders.

And despite the tense weight of words unsaid that has been resting over them both since they started out, Louis finds himself unwilling to relinquish Harry’s company. Despite all these questions swirling around Louis’ mind, he craves closeness, wants now more than ever to re-connect with Harry in whatever way possible. It’s ridiculous.

Ridiculous and bloody terrifying.

“This is beautiful,” Harry says softly, eyes trained on the horizon, the water glittering faintly.

Louis follows his gaze, takes in the stretch of rocky beach, the strange circular rock formation peeking out from the water in the distance.

“It is,” he says, shivering slightly as a sea breeze rushes past them.

Louis licks his lips and tastes salt. He wants to say something generic - something safe; something like _Shall we?_ or _Let’s walk a bit further down_ , but what ends up coming out of his mouth is none of those things.

“I dreamt about it,” he blurts out, voice raspy. “About the guy who-” He swallows, hard, throat like sandpaper. “I dreamt about it last night.”

Harry sucks in a breath and Louis can’t not look at him anymore. The space between them shrinks as Harry steps closer, the tension from before changing into something else. Something intense and...intimate.

Louis wants to touch him so badly. He feels so raw, so bare under Harry’s gaze and he’s terrified, hasn’t stopped being terrified since last night.

“Louis,” Harry says.

Just that. Just his name, but somehow it holds everything Harry is holding back. Louis just wishes he could read between the lines. Wishes that he could somehow know what’s going on inside Harry, what he’s thinking right now as he looks at Louis with wide, soft eyes.

“I almost died,” Louis croaks, throat tight. “You saved me.”

Harry bites his lip, his gaze dropping to the floor and when he looks up a moment later, his eyes are wet and so bright. He truly is the most beautiful thing Louis has ever seen.

“I-” Harry starts, but his voice breaks and he sucks in a trembling breath. “I’m just so glad you’re okay. You are, aren’t you? You’re okay now?”

 _I don’t know._ Louis wants to say. _I have no idea what I am anymore._

But the look on Harry’s face is enough to keep the words inside, the unbidden urge to reassure him, to comfort him, overshadowing everything else.

“Yes,” Louis says, gently. He steps in closer, close enough to feel the heat of Harry’s body. “I’m okay.”

Harry’s chest visibly deflates, clearly letting go of the breath he’d been holding and it brushes warmly against Louis’ cheek.

_He smells so nice._

And just as Louis thinks it, it hits him that it’s not a new thought. That it’s the same as last night when Harry was leaning over him, touching him, putting him back together.

“I’m sorry for leaving you like that,” Harry says quietly.

Louis gives him a weak smile.

“It’s alright,” he says. “I get it.”

Even though he doesn’t. Not really.

“Was it bad?” Harry asks, eyeing him worriedly. “Answering questions?”

Louis shakes his head, still determined to reassure Harry.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I didn’t think you did,” Harry says softly. “I trust you.”

 _You do?_ Louis almost says, but bites his tongue at the last moment. No need to look any more stupid than he undoubtedly already does.

He manages a weak smile, his chest warming when Harry tentatively smiles back at him.

He takes a deep breath.

“I need to know what’s going on, Harry,” he says. “I need to know what happened.”

 _I need to know why I feel this way,_ he doesn’t say. _I need to know why it feels like I need to be close to you and even when I am, it never feels close enough._

Harry’s gaze drops to the scruffed caps of his Converse, toes turned slightly inwards.

“I don’t know if I can tell you.”

Louis tries his best not to frown.

“You said you trust me.”

Harry’s eyes snap up and lock with his.

“No, that’s not- I do. I do trust you, Louis.” His gaze is so intent, so earnest, that Louis should find it unnerving. He doesn’t. “It’s just that I don’t really know what’s going on either. I’ve never done this before.”

That...is rather unexpected.

“You’ve never healed anyone before?”

Harry bites his lip. It’s clearly a nervous habit - if only it weren’t so distracting.

“No, yes- I mean, I have, but not like this. I’ve done small things. Some scratches, a broken bone...I healed a bird once, when I was little. And the neighbour's dog when it got hit by a bike. And a sheep. But they weren’t- it wasn’t like this. You- _You were dying_ and I-”

He breaks off, brows furrowed and eyes bright.

“What?” Louis prompts gently. “You what?”

“I was so scared,” Harry whispers and Louis’ heart melts.

The last thread of restraint breaks and he reaches out, palms clammy and fingers tight as they close around Harry’s arms. It’s desperate rather than comforting, but Harry doesn’t pull away, his hands grazing Louis’ hips as he curls his fingers into the hem of Louis’ hoody. Anchoring each other.

“It’s okay,” Louis says soothingly, the fabric of Harry’s jumper smooth as he rubs his thumbs in a slow circle against the inside of his elbows. “I’m okay.”

And this isn’t what Louis expected, not even a little. He was prepared for some reluctance, maybe some shiftiness or mysterious half-answers, but never this. Not for Harry to be just as scared as Louis, to look almost as lost as Louis feels.

But, the selfish part in Louis whispers, if that means that Harry is like this, that he’s holding Louis right back and that this doesn’t end with Louis desperately clinging on on his own- If that’s what this is, then Louis takes it gladly. He’s prepared to sacrifice any and all answers in exchange for this.

“Can I-” Harry hesitates, his cheeks flushed from what must be more than just the sharp sea breeze. “Can I see?”

Louis’ fingers spasm, his grip tightening before loosening almost completely. He nods.

Harry’s gaze never wavers. It stays locked with Louis’ as he slowly starts to inch the hoody upwards, taking the t-shirt underneath with it and baring Louis’ skin to the chilly air. Louis sucks in a sharp breath and Harry’s eyes widen.

“What-”

Louis looks down, even though with the hoody bunched up the way it is and Harry’s hands in the way, he can barely catch a glimpse. Not that he needs to. Glowing handprints appearing on your skin is not something you tend to forget.

“How long has this been there?”

Louis licks his lips, Harry’s proximity doing strange things to his insides. The handprint feels more alive than ever and Louis tries desperately not to squirm.

“I’m not sure,” he says. “It wasn’t when I went to sleep, but when that nightmare woke me up…”

“Does it-” Harry bites his lip, words hesitant and carefully formed. “What does it feel like?”

“It mostly just…tingles. I think it-,” Louis swallows, his face heating. “It reacts to you.”

Harry’s eyes flicker upwards, then back to the print. His hand inches closer, but he doesn’t touch.

 _Do it!_ Louis shouts inwardly. _Touch me!_

“Do you think it’s permanent?” Is what he forces out instead.

Harry shakes his head. “I have no idea. I told you, I’ve never done this before. We’re usually much more careful than this.”

Louis blinks. “We?”

Harry bites his abused lip once more and Louis wants to soothe it with his tongue. He’s so very fucked.

Sighing, Harry gently lowers the hoody once more, his grip loosening. Louis latches back onto his arms to keep him close, isn’t ready for the strange craving to come back full force should they part completely.

Harry doesn’t pull away, but his hands are shaking a little as they settle on Louis’ waist. Instinctively, Louis’ thumbs start up their small, soothing circles once again and he’s gratified when some of the tightness in Harry’s shoulders eases.

“Niall, Isabel and me,” Harry says, voice strained and trembling around the edges. “We’re...not from around here.”

Louis frowns. “Where then?”

Harry’s hand is unsteady as it detaches from Louis’ hip, his fingers trembling as he folds them towards his palm - all but one which he uses to point upwards.

Louis raises an eyebrow.

“Up north?” he asks. “Like, Scotland?”

Harry shakes his head and lifts his hand further.

“Iceland?”

Another shake and the finger goes higher.

Something niggles at Louis’ brain but he refuses to acknowledge it, his mind shying away from the mere possibility.

“ _Greenland_?”

But he already knows that that’s not it either. He sees Harry gulp and raise his finger just that tiny bit more.

“You can’t mean- You- No.” An incredulous laugh bubbles out of Louis, threadbare and shaky. “Are you telling me you’re- you’re an-an a-” He can barely bring himself to say it. “An _alien_?”

Harry’s face is pinched, his eyes wide as he gives a jerky nod. His grip is almost painfully tight at this point. But even now, Louis doesn’t for a moment contemplate letting go.

“ _What_?” It comes out too high, almost a squeak. His jaw feels heavy and he has trouble keeping it from gaping open. “How is that even possible?”

“I don’t know.” Harry’s eyes flicker across his face, as though waiting for the other shoe to drop. Louis would love to reassure him somehow, but he’s currently spending all his energy on not freaking out. “We don’t really know what happened.”

And...Louis doesn’t have a clue what to do with any of this.

“Does that mean the crash…?”

“Yeah,” Harry says quietly.

“Fuck, okay.”

Louis takes a few measured breaths. He’s grateful for Harry’s tight hold, feels as though he might actually float away without it. But Harry is right there, warm and real, and Louis still desperately wants to be close to him.

“Okay,” he says again, a poor attempt at a pep talk. “So, aliens.” He clears his throat, trying to sound as casual as possible. “What does that mean, then? Are you, like” Louis makes a vague gesture. “Do you look...different? Under...all that?”

Harry’s lips twitch into a small smile and Louis is grateful to see that some of the spark has returned to Harry’s eyes.

“No,” he says. “We’ve always looked like this.”

Well, that’s reassuring. Louis isn’t quite sure if he’s ready for little green men with big heads. Though-

“Wait, hang on.” Louis’ brow folds back into an incredulous frown. “The crash happened in 1957, does that- Are you, like, 60 years old? Does that mean you age differently from us?”

Harry shakes his head.

“No, no we age the same.”

The smile is gone again and Louis wishes he knew how to bring it back. Harry is obviously on edge, like some part of him expects Louis to run for the hills. Little does he know that even if he wanted to, Louis isn’t sure he _could_. Not with Harry’s handprint seared into his skin; not with the memory of how they had come together so seamlessly.

“The ship, it had these pods. Like incubation pods? We think someone moved them after we crashed, because when we came out of them 40 years later we were in a cave a few miles from the crash site.”

“How old were you when you came out of there?”

Harry lifts his shoulders in a tense shrug. “About seven? At least that’s what the orphanage recons.”

Louis lets out a breath. “I heard some rumours, back in school, about how you and Isabel were found wandering around in the middle of nowhere, but I always thought it was bullshit.”

“No, it’s true,” Harry says quietly. “We were completely clueless. Couldn’t speak or anything.”

“I’m sorry, that must have been really confusing for you,” Louis says, his palms smoothing another caress along Harry’s arms.

He can’t even imagine what it must be like, wandering around in the dark with no idea who you are or what happened. He’d like nothing more than to take Harry in his arms and hold him as tightly as he can, but the thought of getting rejected is enough to keep him firmly in place.

 _At least he wasn’t alone_ , Louis thinks gratefully.

He takes another deep breath and tries his best to centre himself.

“So, what else can you do?” he asks, endlessly curious.

Harry looks relieved at the change of topic. “We can, like, change molecular structure.”

Chemistry had never been Louis’ best subject. He frowns.

“What does that mean?”

“Uhm, it’s probably easier if I show you,” Harry says, casting a searching eye around. He stops at Louis’ car. “Here.”

He lets go of Louis and crosses the small distance to the car. Louis instantly misses his warmth and shivers a little as the breeze around them picks up.

Harry reaches out to lightly place his fingers on the hood of the car. Colour bleeds out from beneath Harry’s touch, turning the faded, chipped blue into a vibrant bottle green.

“It’s how I healed you,” Harry says.

And Louis has been in such a constant state of shock that he’s gone a little numb with it.

He doesn’t say anything for a while, silently drawing closer to Harry’s warmth until he’s leaning against the car next to him. He draws the hem of his sleeves across his fingers, curling them around the fabric to keep the chill at bay before stuffing them into the front pouch of his hoody.

The wind is blowing his fringe into his eyes, but Louis hardly notices.

“So, no one knows?” he says, eventually breaking the silence between them.

Harry shifts next to him and Louis wants to touch him, but doesn’t quite know how now that they’ve broken apart. Doesn’t know if Harry wants him to.

“No one,” Harry says quietly. “Not even our parents. It’s too dangerous.”

“But when you healed me you,” Louis’ throat feels once more caked with sand. “You risked everything for me.”

Harry is silent, but his body is hot where it presses into Louis, fitting into his side like he’s always belonged there.

“I couldn’t let you die,” he says, then, and Louis has no idea how to describe the feeling tightening his chest.

It’s all been a lot to take in and to say Louis is confused would be an understatement. Not to mention that now he apparently has to factor in the possibility of some alien mojo.

There’s a lot of things Louis would like to say, but no idea how to say them. So he just stays and basks in the closeness, in the way Harry’s body feels against his and keeps the chill at bay.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, but the side that isn’t pressed against Harry has broken out in goosebumps and Louis’ nose feels slightly numb when Harry finally speaks.

“It’s cold,” he says softly. “We should go.”

There’s little Louis wants less. He’s got this horrible feeling that if they go now they’ll be leaving their closeness behind. If they leave here, Louis has no idea when he’ll get a chance to talk to Harry again, to touch him like they’ve been since they came here.

Louis wishes there was a way to tell him all this. Instead, he takes a bracing breath and finally forces himself to detach and stand up straight.

“Harry,” Louis says. “Before we go there’s one more thing…”

Harry looks at him in askance, but Louis doesn’t answer. Instead, he rounds his newly minted car and opens the boot.

The scrunched up bin bag is still right where he stuffed it into a corner. Louis unwraps it slowly, not keen on seeing his ruined jumper again.

Harry makes a small sound of surprise. “Is that…?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, clears his throat when it comes out hoarse. “I thought it’s best to burn it.”

Harry looks a little pale, but he nods and takes it off him without hesitation.

“I can take care of it.”

Louis doesn’t say anything, simply slams the boot shut once more. He trails Harry to a small groove in the rocks a little further down, the formation enough to keep the space shielded from the wind.

Harry puts the jumper down on the rough sand, then backs up a few small steps until their sides are pressed back together. Louis can feel Harry sucking in a deep breath. He looks nervous, shooting Louis an anxious glance.

Louis wants to take his hand.

Instead, he clenches his fingers inside his pocket and meets Harry’s gaze. He gives him a nod, hopes that it conveys his reassurance, his support; hopes that it’s enough for now.

Harry returns it, his expression clearing and turning into something firm and determined. His jaw is tight, his gaze intent as he faces forwards and raises his hand.

The air shifts, pulsing with a strange surge of energy, and the jumper bursts into flames. And Louis should be staring at the way this fire that has sprung from nothing is consuming the last of the evidence of what happened to him to change his whole life.

But his eyes never leave Harry’s face.

*

“You alright?” Liam says, pulling him into a hug. “El told me what happened-woah-” He pulls back, looking over Louis’ shoulder. “I didn’t know you’d planned on re-vamping your car.”

And yes, Louis suddenly realises that he hadn’t quite thought this through. Harry had offered to return his car to it’s former state before they’d left the beach, but Louis wanted to keep it like this. Stupidly, he only now realises the flood of unwanted questions it’s going to provoke.

A flood he’s going to have to answer by adding even more threads of lies. Louis knows that if he isn’t careful, these threads will easily turn into a web and he has no idea if he’s skilled enough to keep himself from getting tangled up in it.

“It was a spur of the moment thing,” Louis says, going for dismissive.

But this is Liam and if it’s one thing his best friends are shit at, it’s leaving well enough alone - especially when it comes to Louis. His eyebrows have already shot up and he’s giving Louis his puppy-frown.

“No shit,” Liam says. “Where’d you have it done?”

“A guy I know hooked me up,” Louis says vaguely. He keeps his voice light and shrugs for good measure, hoping for a change of subject. “His friend has a garage in Lincolnfield.”

Liam doesn’t look convinced.

“You drove all the way to Lincolnfield for a paint job?” he says, incredulous. “You should’ve said something. My mum knows a ton of people that do that kind of thing. In fact, I think we even have some paint in the workshop.”

“Thanks, Liam,” Louis says, unable to keep the edge from his words. He can’t help the feeling of annoyance welling up inside of him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He knows Liam isn’t trying to interrogate him, knows that if their places were reversed Louis would be acting exactly the same way.

But Louis feels cornered, the weight of the secret he now carries unfamiliar and stifling. Most of all, he’s terrified of betraying Harry’s trust, of doing something that might put either him, Isabel or Niall in danger.

He already regrets taking that tone with Liam.

“I’m sorry,” he says, feeling his shoulders slumping. “I’m still a bit wired after yesterday, just needed to get out of town for a bit. Thought the drive would do me good.”

Liam nods, expression open and brimming with understanding. Louis really doesn’t deserve his friends.

“It’s okay, Tommo,” he says and Louis comes easily when Liam pulls him into another hug, holding on longer this time. “Do you want to talk about it? El’s worried about you. Said you were really shaken up.”

“I’m fine,” Louis mumbles into Liam’s shoulder. He stays for another moment, surrounded by Liam’s familiar presence. It feels good to have at least one thing that has stayed the same. He finally pulls away, giving Liam a small smile, lying through his teeth. “Just happy that no one got hurt.”

Liam nods and follows when Louis turns to go inside.

“I got a right fright when El rang me last night,” he says as they climb the stairs to the flat. “I wanted to call you, but didn’t want to wake you up in case you’d already gone to sleep.”

“Don’t worry about it, mate,” Louis says, giving Liam’s shoulder a pat as they enter into the cramped hallway. “I’ve calmed down now. Went round to me mum’s in the morning and had my little excursion. Drink?”

Liam is already making a beeline for the couch while Louis lingers in the door to the kitchen, ready to nip inside to get them something.

“Is it too early for a beer?”

Liam sounds hopeful and Louis laughs.

“Never too early for a beer,” he says, making a quick detour to the fridge, before plonking down next to Liam on the couch, passing him a bottle.

Louis switches on the telly - more out of habit than anything - and turns down the volume to a low murmur. It’s some Hollyoaks re-run and he can’t be arsed to change the channel. He throws the remote between them on the couch and takes another drag from his beer.

It’s cold and soothes his nerves a bit, though at this point Louis wouldn’t mind breaking out the vodka - early afternoon or no.

“Thank god it’s Tuesday,” Louis groans, putting his bare feet up on the coffee table, ignoring the unimpressed look Liam sends him.

Tuesdays are Louis’ only days off, the pub only opening again on Wednesday for lunch.

“Have you thought about taking on more staff?” Liam asks, taking another sip himself. “You can’t run the place with only three people, Tommo, you’re running yourself ragged.”

Louis sighs and drags his palms across his face.

“I told you I need to see how it goes, how much we bring in.” He feels impossibly tired all of a sudden and the last thing he’s in the mood for right now is shop talk. “I can’t just blindly hire people and then not be able to pay them.”

“One more person is hardly _hiring blindly_ ,” Liam says, frowning. “There’s only you, Ed and Jade during the week. Then Stan who comes to help out at the weekends. That’s not a lot of people considering the pub is packed most nights. Especially on Crashdown and open mic nights.”

Liam is right of course. Crashdown nights on Wednesdays are a tradition that goes back to when the Ross and Well had first opened. It started out as a basic pub-quiz night and has since developed into themed game nights where the entire town plus tourists come to join in almost every week.

The open mic nights, on the other hand, had been entirely Louis’ idea. He used to try to convince his grandfather to give it a go, that it’d work out really well seeing as there are no other options like it in Roswick, small town that it is. But his granddad had been adamant.

Louis had almost given up on the idea himself, buried as he had been in responsibilities and the type of worries only new business owners get bombarded with. But then he’d mentioned it to Ed in passing and he’d been thrilled. He’d jumped right into the the whole thing and did all the legwork, organising the equipment from musicians he knows and providing some of his own.

In return, Louis declared him the man in charge of open mic nights and told him he was welcome to reserve the opening and closing slots as his own for a mini-gig. Ed had refused at first, but after a bit of prodding he’d finally agreed under the condition that Louis would sing at least one song per night with him.

And it’s not like Louis doesn’t enjoy performing, he really does. It’s just that he isn’t as confident as he used to be a few years ago, where he just walked out on stage and sang his heart out at school musicals.

But in the end he’d agreed and the open mic nights had turned out to be a raging success.

Deprived of a cook on Friday nights and considering the crazy amount of people storming the pub at the weekends, Louis had offered Stan a weekend job to help Ed out.

Still, Louis is reluctant to hire any more people just yet. There is one thing his granddad had always told him, a philosophy passed down from generation to generation since the pub had been founded.

 _The most important thing, Louis_ , he’d always said, putting an arm around Louis’ shoulders and leaning in close to his ear as though he was sharing a secret. _The most important thing is to keep yourself out of debt. Cut back, stay small if you have to, but never spend money you don’t have._

And so far, Louis had found it to be one of the best pieces of advice he’s ever received.

“I’ll think about it,” he says, eventually.

Liam sighs, but smiles at him.

“You do that,” he says. “And if you need any help you know where to find us.”

“Thanks, Payno.”

*

They end up playing FIFA, empty beer bottles littering the coffee table and the couch bare after all the pillows have been thrown off by Louis’ energetic squirming and bouncing. It’s where they’re most of the time anyway, seeing as Louis has always had a problem with staying still. He’s considered just putting them away or giving them to his mum, but they were a housewarming gift from El so he’s kept them.

“YES! Get in!” Louis shouts triumphantly as he scores another goal on-screen.

Liam groans and snatches his sweaty beer bottle off the table. It’s a miracle they haven’t spilled anything yet.

Louis turns to him with a smug grin. He’s absolutely wiping the floor with Liam tonight - not that that’s such a rare occurrence. It’s good, this. Something light-hearted and familiar that Louis can hide behind, something to take his mind off the gentle pulling in his chest and the tingling handprint on his stomach.

He wonders what Harry is doing right now.

“That’s it,” Liam says, putting down his bottle with over-dramatic finality. “We’re switching to Mario Kart.”

Louis snorts. “Forget it, Payno. You can’t switch games just because you’re losing.”

“This is supposed to be fun!” Liam grumbles.

“I’m having loads of fun,” Louis says, cackling.

Liam picks up a pillow and throws it at him. Louis ducks just in time.

“Piss off.” He laughs. “You’re just as bad as El.”

Liam sticks two fingers up at him, just as both their phones chime at the same time. Must be the group chat, then.

Louis is too lazy to check his own so he just waits for Liam to read it out to him.

“El says she can’t make it,” Liam says. “She’s still stuck in the lab.”

“Told you,” Louis says. They’d messaged her earlier to see whether she wants to join them. “She’s been in a frenzy since the Easter holidays started.”

“El’s always in a frenzy when it comes to studying. And her molecular bioscience course is doing her in,” Liam says, picking up his beer again.

He doesn’t drink though, instead rolling it listlessly between his palms. Louis knows that look.

He gently pries the bottle from Liam’s hands and scoots closer, abandoning his controller so he can throw an arm around his shoulders.

“What’s going on, then?”

Liam shrugs, looking miserable.

“It’s stupid,” he says.

“You’re feelings aren’t stupid, Liam,” Louis says firmly.

Liam gets like this sometimes, all quiet and melancholy. It doesn’t happen very often, but at least whenever it does, Liam’s the type to come and spill his heart out to you. Not like Louis, who usually bottles things up until they overflow.

Not the small, random things. Not the petty things that he likes to start ratty fights over when he’s in a bad mood. But the deep, serious things that gnaw and gnaw and _gnaw_ at him until they’ve all but eaten him up from the inside.

Things like not wanting to admit to himself that something was missing from his relationship with Kylie and it took him over _two years_ to finally reach his breaking point.

He pushes the thought firmly away.

“I don’t know, it’s just...growing up, I suppose…” Liam slides a little lower in his seat and leans into Louis’ side. “Everything’s changed. And now we’ll be finishing uni in a year and I haven’t a clue what to do. I’m not like you or El, I don’t have it all figured out.”

Louis gives him an incredulous look.

“Have you met me?” he says. “I’m the last person who’s got _anything_ figured out.”

Liam shakes his head. “You’re running your own business, I think that pretty much qualifies as having figured _something_ out.”

Louis snorts.

 _I almost died yesterday_ , he doesn’t say. _I was brought back from death’s door by an alien that I now feel this deep connection with._

“There’s more to life than finding some way to earn money,” Louis says, instead, when inside he keeps thinking, _I’m not even sure who I am anymore._

“I know,” Liam says, but he looks just as unhappy as before. “But it’s a start. I just feel like you’re all moving forward and leaving me behind.”

Louis’ chest constricts and he pulls Liam into a hug.

“Don’t think that,” he says, rubbing Liam’s back. “You’ll always have us.”

“I’m sorry,” Liam mumbles, words muffled in Louis’ shoulder. “It’s just when I went over to El’s the other day I saw all these folders and brochures lying around for postgraduate studies and it just made me feel like a knob. El’s so clever, so ambitious. It’s like she could take over the world. And you’re always so strong and just plough ahead no matter what and it makes me feel like a loser.”

 _Ah_ , Louis thinks. _So this is where all this came from._

“Have you talked to El about this?” Louis asks.

Liam draws back with a sigh. His eyes look red, but his cheeks are dry.

“And say what? I’m not gonna be an arse about it. It’s great she’s got all these options and we both know that she was always meant for something a little bigger than this shitty town.”

Louis doesn’t contest that, because it’s true. It just might be the first time that he feels like it might also be true for him. He’s never felt this out of place before. He just feels so unmoored, his whole life suddenly turned upside down - and he wishes he could say that it’ll pass. That he’ll settle back into it once he works through what happened with Harry - but he knows that he’d be lying to himself.

“It might help if you finally told her about your feelings,” Louis says, doing his best to keep his voice even.

It’s a particularly sore subject. And, sure enough, he can immediately see Liam’s hackles rise.

“I’m not going to tell her,” Liam shoots back, face pinched. “We’ve been over this.”

“I just think it’d make you feel better.”

“I’m not ruining a lifelong friendship over a stupid crush, Louis.”

“It’s not going to ruin anything,” Louis says. “El won’t stop being your friend just because she knows you’ve got feelings for her.”

“No, she’ll just pity me and start walking on eggshells around me,” Liam says bitterly. “And, believe me, that would suck even more than it does now.”

Louis wisely keeps his mouth shut. This argument has gone stale about sixth months back when Liam first admitted to Louis that he’d developed feelings for El once they’d started spending more time on their own when they’d started uni.

“And anyway,” Liam barrels on. “I’ve been seeing Sophia for about a month now.”

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up. “Sophia Smith? Geoff’s niece?”

“Yeah,” Liam says and Louis is hard pressed to find any enthusiasm on his face.

Sophia went to school with them and used to help her uncle Geoff out at the UFO centre. Louis doesn’t really know her all that well. He’s seen her around and she’s been with them when they’d gone out in a group. She’s El’s friend, though, so Louis knows from her that Sophia is studying fashion design in one of the neighbouring cities and only comes back on weekends.

“And I’m only hearing about this now?” Louis is, admittedly, still a little taken aback.

Liam looks sheepish. “I didn’t want to add anything onto your plate, you know, considering the thing with Kylie…”

“Just because my life’s been a bit crazy lately doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear about what’s going on in yours.”

“I know,” Liam says, patting his thigh. “How’s that going, by the way? She still texting you?”

Louis shrugs and looks away.

“She has been, yeah.” He shifts. “It’s fucking hard, Liam. It’s not like I don’t want to talk to her. She’s important to me and I want us to be friends, but we both need a bit of space for that to work. I just don’t know how to talk to her anymore…”

Liam gives a solemn nod. “I know. She does look a bit better, though - I saw her in town the other day.”

Louis lets out a breath.

“Good, that’s good. I’m glad to hear it.” He can already feel himself shutting down, his throat closing up and refusing to say anymore on the topic even though his insides are knotted painfully together. “Now how about that round of Mario Kart?”

Liam still looks a little concerned, but he lets it slide.

“Sure,” he says. “Get ready to be destroyed, Tommo.”

*

As predicted, Crashdown night is insane.

The pub is absolutely rammed and Louis doesn’t know up from down. El and Liam, because they’re the best friends anyone could wish for, immediately jump in to help and Louis calls in Stan, who thankfully agrees to do a shift with Ed in the kitchen.

Louis has to rush between manning the bar with Jade and helping El and Liam with organising the quiz. Stan has taken over main kitchen duty so Ed can have a breather and concentrate on taking the food to the tables. Louis has even seen Jade’s friend Perrie clearing some tables and delivering a meal or two. He’ll have to thank her later and put her down for a few rounds of free drinks.

Throughout it all, Louis catches Isabel Styles glaring at him from where she’s sitting at a booth with her friends. Neither Harry or Niall are among them and Louis tries very hard not to be disappointed.

By the end of the night, Louis is ready to keel over and the prospect of having to still clean after locking up is almost enough to send him to tears.

“What the hell even was this tonight,” Liam groans, slumped in the booth closest to the bar.

“Must be all this talk about Tommo being attacked by robbers,” El says, words muffled from where she’s collapsed face-first onto the bar. “They all just wanted some more fodder for gossip.”

“They weren’t even trying to steal anything,” Louis argues, voice scratchy from weariness and the late hour.

He’s stretched out along three barstools with his feet dangling off a fourth. It might’ve been easier to lie down in a booth, but his limbs feel too heavy to move.

“The story has changed a few times,” El says, pausing to blow an errant strand of hair from her face. “I think I heard at least two involving an epic fist fight and one where the knife has been turned into a gun.”

“Lovely,” Louis drawls, rolling his eyes.

They’re burning, his eyeballs dry and gritty from leaving his contacts in for too long.

“Do you want help cleaning up?” Liam asks, looking half asleep.

“Definitely not,” Louis says firmly, finally managing to scrape enough energy together and heave himself into a somewhat upright position. “You’ve done more than enough. Go home and get some sleep. I’ll just do some rudimentary things and leave the rest for tomorrow morning.”

He’s already at a loss as to how to ever repay his friends.

“If you’re sure,” El says, peeling her cheek from the bar.

Her hair is a mess and there’s some dark smudges under her eyes from where her mascara has flaked off when she rubbed at them.

“I’m sure,” Louis says.

They get up and exchange hugs, Liam fishing his car keys from his pocket only to have them snatched from his hand by El.

“I’m driving,” she says, moving towards the door. “You look like you’re gonna fall asleep standing up any second.”

Liam frowns at her. “Like you’re any better!”

Louis tunes them out, too tired for the incessant bickering, simply calling a “Be safe and text me when you’re home!” after them, before locking the door.

He pops upstairs to take out his contacts, sliding his black framed glasses on instead, before trudging back down.

Scowling at the mess behind the bar, Louis makes his way to the sound system to put some music on before he starts. It’s nice not having any neighbours he could piss off and he always takes full advantage of that by ramping up the music until it booms through the speakers and fills the entire pub.

He starts by filling the dishwasher and putting it on, then goes to collect the remaining dirty glasses for a second load, absently singing along to a random playlist.

“Interesting song choice.”

The pint glass slips from his fingers, drenching his thin jumper with stale beer, and would have shattered on the floor if a hand hadn’t shot out to catch it.

Louis would recognise that hand anywhere, especially after having traced the silver outline of it against his skin so many times he’s long since lost count.

His eyes snap up.

“Harry!”

It comes out quite inelegant, a high-pitched gasp that Louis very much hopes is drowned out by the song-

 _“You’re an alien, your touch so foreign, it’s supernatural! Extraterrestrial!”_ Katy Perry is proclaiming loudly over the speakers.

Heat rushes to Louis’ face, a mortified flush suffusing his cheeks. He almost breaks his neck as he launches himself at the sound system.

_“-wanna feel your powers, stun me with your-”_

The song cuts off abruptly as Louis hits the power button, plunging the dimly lit pub into silence. His breathing sounds awfully loud in the sudden quiet and Louis is almost convinced Harry must be able to hear his rabbiting heart where it’s knocking against his ribcage.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Harry says, carefully putting down the pint glass he’d saved.

He looks both apologetic and ready to burst out laughing. Louis wants to strangle him a bit. With his tongue.

Louis lets out a breath, forcing himself to calm down, though his face is still undoubtedly on fire.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I just thought I’d locked the door-”

“You did.” Harry looks suddenly sheepish. “I just-” He wriggles his fingers meaningfully and Louis is so helplessly endeared he hardly knows what to do with himself. “I’m sorry, that was probably out of line and really forward of me-”

“No!” Louis interjects, voice still too high. He hastily clears his throat. “No, not at all. I don’t mind. Just, maybe a bit of warning next time so I don’t die of a heart attack.”

He looks down at his jumper, wrinkling his nose at the mess and the uncomfortable feeling of the soggy fabric glued to his skin.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says again, his voice softer now and much closer. Louis doesn’t have to look to know that he’s bridged most of the space between them, his skin humming with the proximity. “I just really wanted to see you. See how you are.”

The last bit is tagged on hastily as if Louis would ever object to Harry wanting to see him as reason enough.

“I wanted to see you too,” he blurts.

His heart is still beating fast and Louis has yet to get used to the urges of sudden, deep honesty that overcome him every time he looks into Harry’s eyes. There’s just something about Harry that makes him want to rip open his chest and offer up every last bit that’s locked away in there.

It’s all worth it, though, when Harry’s mouth curves into the sweetest smile, cheeks dimpling and eyes shining as though Louis has just climbed up to get him the stars. If Louis could, he’d bring him every last one and the moon on top of it.

Louis smiles back helplessly.

“Have you been sleeping alright?” Harry’s eyes are so intent as they glide over Louis’ body, they might as well have been a physical touch. It’s enough to send a slow shiver down Louis’ spine, the mark on his stomach tingling. “Any more nightmares?”

“No,” Louis lies and swallows the bitter taste it leaves in his mouth. He doesn’t want to worry Harry with his stupid sleeping problems. “Just a bit restless.”

Harry frowns at him and Louis wonders if he knows when Louis’ lying. Is it part of his alien powers? Or just part of his Louis-power?

Louis drops his gaze, feeling exposed, tugging at his sodden jumper to peel it from his skin.

Harry shifts, drifting closer as he tentatively reaches out to him.

“Let me-?”

 _Anything_ , Louis wants to say - stupidly, reflexively - and when he finally looks back up, his gaze is immediately caught by Harry’s own. He always looks so intense, Harry does, and Louis wishes not for the first time to know what’s going on in his head.

Instead of answering, Louis takes the final step to erase the distance between them. Harry’s palm brushes against the wet jumper, the handprint underneath buzzing to life and sending Louis’ heart into another frenzy.

Louis swallows around the sudden dryness of his throat and his voice comes out scratchy when he does finally force himself to speak.

“You better,” he jokes weakly. “I’ve already lost my favourite jumper. Let’s not make a habit of it.”

And there go the dimples again. Louis desperately wants to touch them, to know what they feel like beneath his fingers as they appear on Harry’s face.

“Can’t have that now, can we,” Harry says, voice slow and deadpan even as he bites his lip to stifle a laugh, eyes sparkling.

They never leave Louis’, his gaze pinning him into place as he slowly drags his palm all the way from Louis’ chest to his stomach, making the wetness disappear. Louis barely keeps in the helpless sound that’s fighting to spill over, but even so he knows that Harry must be able to feel him shudder.

They’re barely even touching, their skin separated by the thin fabric of Louis’ jumper - but Louis is already drunk on it, his head fuzzy and his whole body feeling as though it’s been lit on fire. He doesn’t think, hardly even notices when his hand moves to cover Harry’s before it can withdraw, pressing it to his stomach and holding onto it - just as he’d done the night Harry had changed his life.

They both still, their breathing the only sound in the deserted pub as it mingles in the small space between them. Louis wonders, dazedly, how Harry’s eyes can still look this bright in such a dimly lit room.

“Is it still there?” Harry asks, low and intimate.

He smells fresh, like the ocean, but there’s something sweet underneath and Louis wants to tip forward and bury his nose in his curls, wants to press his lips to his neck and taste his skin.

“Yes.” Louis say hoarsely, his hand pressing down harder, anchoring Harry’s touch to his body. “Do you- Do you want to see?”

But what he means is _Do you want to touch?_ And from the way Harry’s breath trembles when he releases it from his lungs, Louis thinks he must know it too.

“Yeah.”

They move together, pushing the jumper out of the way, Louis’ fingers unsteady as they curl tightly into the fabric and tug it upwards.

Harry’s hand is like fire when it finally meets his skin, the connection instant as his palm slots into place over the silver mark seared into Louis’ stomach. Louis’ whole body is vibrating.

“How does it feel?” Harry asks quietly.

“Sensitive,” Louis murmurs. “I can-” He swallows. “I can still feel you.”

Harry’s breath is hot against Louis’ face, his eyes soft and his expression open and Louis can’t help how the words just keep spilling out.

“When you-” Louis licks his lips; they feel cracked, his tongue too-dry. “When you healed me, I saw things.”

“I know,” Harry says. “I saw them, too.”

He says it softly, almost like a confession and he has this look on his face, the same on he wore when they were at the beach - as though he’s expecting Louis to simply abandon him right where he stands and run for the hills.

Louis only holds onto him tighter.

“Is that normal?” he asks. Harry smiles weakly at his choice of words and Louis quickly amends. “I mean, has that happened the other times you’ve done it?”

Harry looks thoughtful, clearly searching for words, for a way to explain.

“Kind of,” he says slowly. “When I heal someone, I need to form a connection first.”

Louis thinks of the chunks of memories flashing through his head when Harry had healed him, still knows what it felt like to be connected to him. Even so, he’s not entirely sure what it means, so he has to ask.

“Connection?”

“We can, like, connect our minds to someone else’s,” Harry’s being careful again, Louis can tell, his speech slowing down even more than usual. “We used to do it a lot with each other when we were children. It was much easier than talking, but we stopped doing it when we realised it isn’t normal.”

 _When they realised that it could mean exposure and people in suits taking them away to cart them off into some lab to prod at them_ , Louis thinks, feeling sickened and incredibly sad.

He rubs small comforting caresses onto the back of Harry’s hand. And for a few long moments, they don’t say anything at all.

“This connection,” Louis asks eventually, a sudden, crazy idea sparking in his head. “Does it only go one way?”

Harry looks at him searchingly and Louis gets this feeling again, like words are just a convenience between them, but ultimately unnecessary. It’s insane, but also kind of insanely beautiful.

“It doesn’t have to,” Harry says.

Louis’ gaze never wavers as he fixes Harry with a determined look.

“Will you show me?”

He’s ready to argue his case, ready to beg, even, but Harry doesn’t give him reason for either. He just nods, as if there’s nothing Louis can’t ask him for. It’s an empowering feeling and profoundly reassuring.

Gently, Harry frees himself from Louis’ grasp and Louis lets him go with reluctance. He needn’t have worried, however, because in the next moment, Harry’s hands come up to carefully rest on Louis’ temples.

“It’s easier this way,” Harry murmurs, softly cradling Louis’ head.

Louis is pliant and unafraid, but at the same time his heart is thumping wildly in his chest and he’s alight with the desire to be as close to Harry as possible.

He places his hands on Harry’s hips, feeling where firm bones gives way to softness right where Harry’s jeans are wrapped around his waist. It’s the perfect place for Louis to hold onto, his palms moulding to Harry’s skin even through layers of clothing.

He can feel Harry react to the touch, can feel him pushing ever so lightly into it, can feel him tremble when Louis gets bold and rubs slow circles into his hipbones.

Harry echoes the touch against Louis’ temples, caressing him gently, before suddenly everything goes bright and their minds clash together in a flash of blinding light, the edges re-connecting seamlessly and with staggering familiarity.

It’s different this time, not as chaotic and not nearly as distorted. This time, Louis isn’t bleeding out and Harry isn’t struggling to put him back together.

The images are still disjointed, but they don’t come as fast this time and Louis has a little more time to process what he’s seeing.

A blanket of stars, a brief flash of a strange triangle formation in the night sky, shining brighter than the others around it, then a plunge into blackness. It’s dark, but warm, something strange and gooey clinging to his body as he slips free and into sudden coldness. He’s terrified.

He shivers and blinks, but there’s hardly any light, only a hand reaching for him and holding tightly to his own.

 _Isabel_.

A stretch of empty road, a starless sky and headlights cutting through the darkness turning everything bright and blinding once more, before fading into something else entirely.

And it’s not just mere images, Louis realises as he watches himself behind the bar of the pub engaging Ed in a dishtowel war, it’s a rush of sensation, of emotion that accompanies every scene.

These are Harry’s memories, things he wanted to hold on to and revisit or things that marked him in a way that he’s unable to forget - things that are _important_ . And Louis is in almost _all of them_.

This is how Harry sees him, Louis realises as he watches himself singing with Ed on stage, walking down the street with his mum pushing a pram, absently passing Harry a drink over the bar without looking up.

He sees himself standing on the empty stretch of beach next to his just-turned-green car, the sea breeze tugging at his fringe. His features are softer, his eyes bluer and everything else seems to just fade away into the background, as though Louis’ body has been enhanced, cut out and pasted onto a blurry, unimportant background.

This is how Harry sees him and in Harry’s eyes, he’s beautiful.

The connection breaks gently, their minds clinging to each other for a moment longer before they finally separate.

Louis feels strangely disconnected from himself, his mind struggling to settle back into his own body. He feels stunned, dizzy with the flood of new revelations.

His head is blank apart from a single thought.

 _Harry wants me_ , Louis thinks dazedly. _He’s wanted me all along._

He reaches out without thought.

“Harry,” he whispers.

Harry’s cheeks are warm beneath his palms, the skin soft. Louis sways forward helplessly, every fibre of his being _aching_ for him. He wants to kiss him _so badly_.

Their bodies press together, fitting into each other, and Louis stretches instinctively, tilts his head up to erase the inch or two still separating their mouths-

But their lips never touch, instead, with the smallest of movements, Harry brings their foreheads together.

“We can’t,” Harry murmurs shakily.

It sounds broken, his voice oddly hoarse. His fingers are gentle but determined as they wrap around Louis’ wrists and pull his hands away. Even so, Louis can feel the hidden tremor in them, can feel how hard Harry is holding himself back.

Louis drops back onto his heels, not even realising that he’d gone up on his tip-toes to be closer to Harry.

“What?” He asks, painfully confused and still more than a little out of it. “Why?”

“It’s too dangerous,” Harry says. “I’m not risking you. I can’t drag you into all this anymore than I already have.”

It looks as though every word he forces out is hurting him, but the stab of rejection is still sharp and merciless as it drives into Louis’ chest, making it hard to breathe.

“I’m already part of this,” Louis protests, eyes burning and voice like sandpaper.

Harry gives him a pleading look. “I can’t.”

And suddenly touching Harry switches from _not enough_ to _too much_ and Louis feels as though he might lose his mind for real if he doesn’t take a step back. So he does.

Harry’s eyes are bright, his soft mouth pressed into an unhappy line that doesn’t conceal how his lower lip is trembling. He looks ready to cry and it’s utterly heartbreaking. Louis very much wants to join in.

Louis just-

He doesn’t get it. He’s tired and overwhelmed, feels ripped open and jilted and _angry_. Not with Harry, who just wants to protect him and looks as miserable as Louis feels, but at everything else; the situation, humanity.

It’s stupid and irrational, but Louis doesn’t feel particularly rational at the moment. Hasn’t really felt rational since Harry first brought their minds together and somehow became a part of him.

“I see,” is what he finally forces out, even though he doesn’t. Not really. And it sounds dull even to his own ears. “But- we’re friends, at least, right? I can- I can still see you?”

_Can I can still be close to you, even a little bit?_

“ _Of course_.” Harry sways forward, looks as though he wants to reach out to him, but then stops. “Whenever you like. I’ll always be there for you.”

Louis looks down, drops his gaze to his scuffed Vans and Harry’s dirty Converse. To the floor that only two nights ago had been drenched in Louis’ blood. It feels like a lifetime ago.

“Me too,” he says to the spot he scrubbed until his hands were raw.

Harry makes a soft sound and it draws Louis’ eyes back to him. He’ll never not be taken aback with his stupidly beautiful Harry is. It’s like every time Louis looks at him, he’s prettier.

Louis licks his lips, trying his hardest to gather his thoughts.

“I’m here for you too,” he clarifies. “I might not have special alien powers, but I’m here if you need me.”

“I-” Harry gives him a helpless look. “Can I please hug you?”

And Louis doesn’t even have to think before he opens his arms. “You never have to ask.”

Harry all but crashes back into his embrace, holding him so tightly it makes his ribs ache. Louis thinks there’s nothing better in the world.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into Louis’ skin, face buried in his neck.

Louis strokes his back, one hand moving up to sink his fingers into Harry’s soft, soft hair. Harry goes almost limp in his arms, pushing further into his touch.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Louis says softly and means it.

He’s slowly starting to feel a little more like himself - or whatever that means these days. But he’s desperate to lighten the mood, wants to drag them away from this horrible feeling of sadness.

“You think as your official friend, I’m allowed your phone number? Or is that reserved for special humans only?”

And it works, a little, because Harry laughs wetly against his neck and Louis squeezes him gently and presses a smile into his shoulder.

Neither of them is ready to let go for a very long time. Honestly, Louis isn’t ready to let go at all, probably ever.

But when he’s finally alone and dragging himself to bed, there’s a single text waiting for him.

_No one more special than you._

*

The weather doesn’t clear and instead of sunshine, a new wave of clouds gathers to hang heavily in the sky. It smells of rain, a faint hint of ozone promising another storm and Louis starts his day shivering as he hastily makes his way to his car to get out of the sharp wind.

He’s spent another night tossing and turning and his eyes feel gritty and sore from lack of sleep. Which is why he’s now irritably wiping a few stray droplets of water from his glasses and cursing under his breath when he smudges them further.

This day is already shaping up great.

In fact, Louis would’ve liked nothing better than to stay in bed all day and wallow. To give himself time to digest what the fuck even happened last night and to go over this whole devastating conversation with Harry again. It’s what he’s been doing all night, but Louis feels as though another few times might be necessary for him to fully wrap his head around it.

It’s not that he doesn’t understand where Harry’s coming from, he does. Harry cares for him, cares for him a whole lot apparently, and has done so for much longer than Louis would ever have thought possible. Which, yeah, that fact alone might have been enough to keep him awake at least half the night.

So Harry wants to protect him, he gets it. If he were in Harry’s position he’d be absolutely terrified - especially since Harry’s got his sister and best friend to consider as well.

Still, underneath it all, there’s something that doesn’t quite... _feel right_. There’s a tiny, niggling feeling nipping at Louis’ mind that just won’t leave him alone.

There’s something Harry isn’t telling him.

But as often as Louis goes over it in his head, as often as he turns things around and takes them apart, nothing quite fits together.

He’s gone through every possible scenario, the most devastating of them that although Harry wants him, he doesn’t want him _enough_ \- doesn’t want him like Louis does, all ready to defy the world, human and alien alike, just to get a chance to be with him and damn the consequences.

Or maybe, maybe it’s not possible. Maybe, even though Harry looks human, the alien part of him is too strong and there’s some kind of biological reason.

Though Louis has trouble to think up anything that would put him off Harry at this point. If it came down to it, Louis cannot think of a single thing that would make him want to reject Harry apart from him being an actual danger to Harry’s health.

Isn’t there a series about that? Some Korean drama that El was addicted to where human spit was toxic to the alien love interest of the main character?

Sighing, Louis glances down at his crumpled shopping list, hardly even remembering how he got here.

He’s trying to deceiver his own chicken scratches partly overlapped with Ed’s much neater handwriting. In the end, he just gives an impatient huff and blindly chucks it into the trolley where it promptly disappears between the new set of dishtowels and a frilly apron that he thinks Ed might appreciate.

It’s always the same with Louis, really. He makes lists and ends up either forgetting them or throwing them out because they’re useless. Which means that they’re almost always out of the stuff they need and have tons of the stuff they don’t and usually ends with hectic last minute shopping trips to get what they’re missing before the pub opens.

Louis runs a business, yes, but he runs it his own way and he’s never, not once in his life, pretended to be organised.

Napkins, he decides. Napkins are always important.

Spotting some polka-dotted ones on the shelf above him, Louis raises himself on his tip-toes and stretches upwards to reach them. It still takes him at least three tries to get a hold of one of the packets.

“Hey, Louis.”

Louis startles and drops back onto his heels, an avalanche of napkins raining down on him.

“Jesus!” Louis gasps, heart hammering.

Kylie’s eyes are wide and she immediately drops her hold all bag.

“I’m sorry,” she says, bending down to help Louis gather the packets. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

She’s dressed in trackies. Louis can see that she’s wearing her kit underneath, the top of it just visible where her hoody is unzipped.

“It’s alright,” Louis says. “I just didn’t see you there.”

Kylie gives him a weak smile. “Yeah, sorry again about that. I just wanted to ask you if you’re holding up okay. After, you know...My dad told me about what happened.”

They straighten up and Louis drops the napkins into his trolley. He rubs his palms against his thighs, feeling awkward. Seriously, what is wrong with him. He’s usually not an awkward person, but lately it seems that all he does his wanting to squirm out of his own skin.

“I’m alright,” he says. “It was a bit of a shock, but nothing happened, so…”

“Yeah,” Kylie says, twisting the end of her pony tail around her finger, a clear sign that she’s feeling agitated. “I’m glad you’re okay in any case.”

“Thank you.”

They stand there in uncomfortable silence for another moment, until Kylie turns slightly to the side and points her thumb into the vague direction of the shop’s entrance.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” she says. “Just wanted to say hi and make sure you’re okay.”

“Thanks,” Louis says again. “And good luck at the game on Sunday.”

Kylie gives him another weak smile.

“Thank you,” she says, then hesitates, clutching the strap of her bag. “You know, you could come. To the game, I mean.” She makes a face at herself, adding hastily. “Not to see me! Obviously. I meant for the game, I know you enjoy watching and our chances are pretty good.” She stops, clearly uncomfortable about the flood of words. “Anyway, everyone’ll be there is all I’m saying.”

“Sure,” Louis says vaguely, already knowing he won’t be going. “I’ll see if I can get away from the pub.”

Kylie looks at him sadly for another moment, then nods and turns to go.

“I’ll see you around,” she says quietly.

Louis feels terrible. “See you.”

He doesn’t stay and watch her leave, instead he’s quick to push his trolley around the next corner to remove himself from the situation as quickly as possible. It hurts, is the thing, remembering how comfortable they used to be with each other, how much fun they used to have.

It’s frightening, to think that this can happen to important relationships, that they can be destroyed like that, never to be the same again.

It’s a bleak and disheartening thought.

*

Louis’ day doesn’t much improve from then on.

He lugs home the shopping, realises he forgot to buy kale and has to go all the way back again. Jade calls in sick and Ed is late to his shift, leaving Louis on his own for the better part of an hour after opening.

Liam comes by in the evening and stands in for Jade, helping Louis behind the bar, but when Louis tries to pay him for his help, Liam takes off in a huff. _How many times have I told you - don’t do that! I’m your best friend, I don’t need to be paid to help you out!_

Normally Liam would just laugh it off or something, but this time he takes real offence and Louis is left behind dumbfounded at the end of the night. Liam’s clearly still a little sensitive, which probably has mostly to do with the fact that El hasn’t been around since the day before yesterday, apparently trapped in the lab with some ground breaking experiment or somesuch.

By the time he’s in bed after closing and clean-up, Louis is aching all over and very much ready for sleep.

\- Or at least that’s what he thinks until he grabs his phone to squint at the screen and find out that he’s been tossing and turning for almost an hour, the sheets tangled around his legs and his toes feeling like ice-cubes from where they’ve been peeking out from beneath the duvet and hit by the chilly breeze from the cracked-open window.

Muttering a curse, Louis flops down on his back and stares at the dark and slightly blurry ceiling. After it refuses to share any sort of revelation with him, he picks his phone back up and swipes his finger across the screen, aimlessly unlocking it.

It’s just gone three in the morning and Louis’ thumb hovers over Candy Crush, before taking a sudden detour and tapping on the Whatsapp icon instead. He doesn’t think, just finds Harry in his contacts and taps on his name, opening the chat.

He stares at it, _No one more special than you._ stares back at him.

They haven’t talked at all since the night before when Harry had gently rejected him, but Louis has been missing him with a ridiculous intensity. He just wants to see Harry _all the time_ and it’s doing his bloody head in. And some pathetic part of him keeps wondering whether Harry misses him, too.

This is stupid, he thinks and is just about to exit the app when something on the screen shifts.

 _Online_ , proclaims the tiny print beneath Harry’s name and Louis’ breath catches.

He is the most ridiculous person, Jesus fuck.

For a moment, nothing happens, then _online_ changes into _typing…_ and by then Louis has stopped breathing.

 **Harry:** _Why are you still up?_

Louis huffs out a laugh, his lungs finally kicking in once more.

 **Louis:** _i could ask you the same thing_

 **Harry:** _I can’t sleep..._

 **Louis:** _me neither, been trying for over an hour_

There’s a pause and Louis watches _typing..._ appear and disappear three times before a reply finally comes.

 **Harry:** _Want to go to the beach with me?_

The edges of his battered iPhone dig into his palm as Louis clutches onto it tightly.

 **Louis:** _yes_

*

“I knew you were lying about the nightmares.”

They haven’t gone that far out this time, but it’s still quite a bit of distance away from town and there isn’t a single street light in sight. The beach is dark, lit up only by the stars and almost full moon above them, the sea a pitch-black mass swelling and ebbing in front of them.

It’s beautiful and Louis doesn’t know anywhere he’d rather be than in this moment.

“I did say I’m still restless,” Louis points out, gently bumping his shoulder into Harry’s and they share a small smile. “So I wasn’t _really_ lying.”

Harry rolls his eyes at him, though he’s still smiling.

The sand is cold, a little unforgiving beneath them and the surf almost touches the tips of Louis’ Vans whenever a strong wave comes in. He’s shivering a bit, but Harry is like a line of fire against his side, pressed in close and warming him from the inside out.

“How are you always so _warm_?” Louis asks him accusingly as another wave comes in and a strong breeze wafts towards them from the open sea.

Harry looks almost apologetic.

“Our core temperature is higher than a human’s,” he says and Louis didn’t quite expect that, but it’s not particularly surprising when he thinks about it.

“Here,” Harry says, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over Louis’ shoulders.

It’s wonderfully warm from Harry’s body and Louis instinctively shrinks deeper into it.

“You sure you don’t need it?” he asks, hesitating to put it on properly.

“Sure,” Harry says, smiling. “Go ahead.”

So Louis sticks his arms through the sleeves, folding his fingers into the hem of his oversized hoody that still peeks out from underneath.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

They are silent for a while, the sound of the waves the only thing cutting through the quiet. Louis turns his head, subtly presses his nose to the collar of Harry’s jacket. It smells like him, sweet like his hair where it touched the fabric.

“I don’t think your sister is very happy with me at the moment,” Louis says. “She kept glaring at me the whole night.”

“She’s just worried,” Harry says. He’s drawing small, aimless shapes into the sand. “We all are.”

“She thinks you shouldn’t have done it.”

Harry stills, his fingers leaving the sand and he shakes his head.

“She might say that, but I know her. If she’d have to make the choice, she’d never let someone die. Especially not like that.”

Louis draws his knees a little closer to his chest, feeling the cold creeping into his bones. He presses closer into Harry’s side.

“Can she heal people, too, then?” Louis asks, curious.

“Not really,” Harry says. “I mean she can do small things, scratches and that, but she’s better at making stuff explode.”

“Oh,” Louis says. “And Niall?”

Harry brushes sand from his hands, his skin pale even in the dark.

“He does this thing where he visits people’s dreams, calls it dream walking.”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “That...sounds interesting.”

Harry laughs. “I don’t know, he comes back with the weirdest stories. It’s quite a strange power to have. He sometimes complains about it, that he’s stuck with the _most useless one_ \- his words, not mine.”

“Maybe you just all need to practice more,” Louis says thoughtfully. “I mean, you said you don’t use them very often so it makes sense that you might need to....like, train or something. Hone it like any other skill, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, I’ve thought of that as well.” He sighs. “I just don’t want to draw any attention to us.”

“I’m sorry I ruined it for you,” Louis says, voice raspy and throat a little tight.

“Please don’t say that,” Harry says quietly.

He touches him tentatively, his fingers slow as they slide along Louis’ own. Like he’s seeking some kind of permission. Louis parts them instinctively, letting Harry into the spaces between until their palms are pressed together. Harry’s hand is big and just as warm as the rest of him and Louis never wants to let go again.

“Can I ask you something?” Louis murmurs, barely audible over the gentle rush of the ocean.

Harry squeezes his hand. “Anything.”

He says it like he means it, like Louis could ask to be let back into his mind again whenever he wants. Louis swallows, wets his lips nervously.

“Do you think you’ll ever go back?” he asks, dreading the answer already. “If there was a way, I mean, would you go back to where you came from?”

Harry lets go of the breath in his lungs, his grip still tight around Louis’ hand. Louis is glad for it, feeling anchored and safe, the way he’s come to always associate with Harry.

“I...I don’t know,” he says hesitantly. “I’ve thought about it so many times and I don’t know. Sometimes I feel so out of place here...so _alien_ , but I don’t know if that’s Earth, or if it’s just, you know, me.”

Louis nods, his eyes seeking the mostly invisible horizon, barely making out where the reflection of the moon melts into the sky.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know what you mean. I had this really weird conversation with Liam the other day. He thinks me and El have it all figured out, but I’ve never felt less ‘figured out’ to be honest.”

Louis can feel Harry’s thumb, can feel where it’s stroking a slow caress into the back of his hand. Then another, and another; a continuous feeling of sparks lighting up beneath his skin and making his nerve endings light up.

“I don’t think one can ever really have things figured out,” Harry says. “I don’t think we’re meant to.”

Louis laughs a little, not because he thinks what Harry said is ridiculous, but because it’s true. Life is a mess, humans are a mess - and, apparently, it’s the same for extraterrestrials. Louis isn’t sure if the thought is comforting or not.

“Would get boring, right?” he says drily

Harry’s answering smile makes him breathe a little easier, bright even in the darkness.

“Exactly.”

They fall into silence again for a while and Louis loves it, loves this - that they can just be quiet together without ever feeling awkward. It’s soothing, calming the storm that’s been raging inside Louis ever since his life was so suddenly upended. It’s these moments that he’s most at ease.

“Look,” Harry says, gently breaking into Louis’ thoughts as he tugs on his hand and points to something with his other. Louis follows his finger to the night sky. “See that triangle of stars over there? Just a little brighter than the ones around it?”

“I see it, yeah.” Louis squints at it, a feeling of familiarity sparking inside him. “I-I think I’ve seen it before. When we connected.”

Harry nods, unsurprised.

“Yeah, we dream of it sometimes. We think that might be where we’re from.” Louis looks at him in wonder and Harry goes on hastily. “I mean, it’s just a theory, but there’s these symbols that keep coming up on the few things we have from our planet and that, there, is one of them.”

Louis sits up a little straighter, can’t keep the astonishment from his voice.

“You have stuff from your planet?”

He feels a bit silly, but Louis just never thought of it like that. Just thought about how it must all have been destroyed in the crash. But Harry did say something about their pods being moved from there in time, so it makes sense that whoever did it took some other stuff along as well.

“Just a few things,” Harry says. “Some jewellery, a book none of us can read and some bits and pieces of a strange metal that we think must’ve been what the ship was made out of.”

Louis is still a bit floored and a lot curious. “Where do you keep it?”

“There’s a cave a few miles from the crash site,” Harry says, gesturing vaguely. “It’s where our incubation pods are - or what’s left of them anyway. We-” He breaks off, clearly hesitant and Louis squeezes his hand in reassurance. “We can go sometime and I can show it to you.”

Out of everything, this is what truly takes Louis aback, not having expected it at all.

“Won’t the others mind?” he asks, almost certain they will.

Harry shrugs.

“Probably.” He sounds entirely unbothered, almost a bit rebellious. It makes Louis feel suddenly hot despite the chilly breeze. “But I want to show it to you if- if you want to see it that is.”

Louis turns, facing Harry properly without ever letting go of him. Their eyes meet in the dark, finding each other easily, unwavering.

“Of course I do,” Louis says, fingers tight around Harry’s own. “I want you to show me everything.”

*

“Was that Harry Styles?” Liam asks, frowning after Harry’s Land Rover where it’s just about to vanish behind the corner at the end of the street.

Louis sees no point in lying, shifting the bags in his hands.

“Yeah, why?”

“Nothing I just-” Liam hesitates, looking at him carefully. “I didn’t know you two hang out, that’s all.”

Louis shrugs.

It had already been really late - or, rather, really early - by the time they decided to leave the beach and so they’d gone for some breakfast in the neighbouring town. Then Harry had taken him to the wholesaler there to pick up some stuff for the pub, before finally dropping him off at home.

It’s no surprise that even something stupid and mundane as buying more napkins and some groceries had felt like a great time, simply because it was time spent with Harry. It’s probably ridiculous and a bit pathetic, but Louis can’t bring himself to care.

He hands off his shopping to Liam, shoving it at him without shame. Liam takes it without comment and follows Louis inside.

“We do now,” Louis says, unlocking the door.

And that’s that.

*

Eleanor finally shows up late that night about an hour after closing. Louis has been watching a re-run of _Grease_ he stumbled across by chance when channel surfing, so he’s a bit dishevelled when he opens the door, having been jumping around on his couch, dancing and singing along to _Greased Lightning_.

“Hiya,” Louis says, surprised, stepping aside to let her in. He runs a hand through his hair, flattening his fringe. “You alright?”

El doesn’t say anything and Louis frowns.

There’s something in El’s expression, the kind of intense look she gets whenever she wants to get something off her chest paired with the faintly crazy air that comes with too long hours at the lab and too little sleep.

Louis locks the door again behind her.

“El?”

Eleanor dumps her bag by the couch, but doesn’t sit down.

“Listen, Lou, I’ve got something to tell you and I have no idea how to say it so I’m just gonna go ahead and do it, okay?”

She’s agitated, Louis can tell, which is enough to put Louis on edge as well.

“Alright,” he says slowly, absently fingering his fringe again. “Let’s hear it, then.”

El fixes him with a firm look. “You need to tell me about what happened that night.”

Louis’ heart all but stops in his chest. He can already feel that this is going to be bad. He switches off the telly, carefully setting the remote aside.

“You know what happened-” he starts, but El cuts him off almost immediately.

“Stop.” She looks pale, but her hands are steady and the determined glint hasn’t left her eyes. “Stop lying.”

Louis stops.

And then El reaches into her bag and Louis can feel the blood draining from his face.

Right there, carefully stored in a clinical plastic zip-lock bag, is the rag Louis had been holding onto that night. The rag still crusted with his blood.

Louis feels sick.

“This isn’t ketchup,” El says, words edged with accusation.

Louis swallows. “Where did you get that?”

“I came back for it, found it under the bar.” El’s eyes are like steel, her voice just as unyielding. “You did a good job cleaning up the mess, by the way, there was no trace of it left. I assume the jumper’s gone too?”

“Burned it,” Louis says hoarsely.

There’s no use playing it cool, now. Louis can tell El isn’t bluffing.

“Alone?”

“No.”

“Louis.” Her voice is suddenly softer, her eyes searching as she steps closer to him. She takes his hands and Louis lets her. They feel limp in her grasp. “Is Harry making you do this? Is he forcing you to lie, did he threaten-”

Louis snatches his hands back.

“ _No_!” He can’t believe she just said that. “God, no, of course not! He saved my life! I’m trying to protect him.”

El folds her arms in front of her chest.

“Because he isn’t human?”

Louis’ jaw almost drops open. “Wh-What?”

But El is relentless, whirling around to snatch up her messenger bag and opening the flap.

“Because I did some tests, see.” She whips out a bunch of neatly pinned pages. Louis can see where she’s highlighted bits, the margins overflowing with notes. “I mean I only had some DNA to go on, so obviously a blood sample would’ve worked much better; I did them over and over again, because I couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing. But they all came back the same and - I feel crazy just saying this - they make it clear that Harry might look human on the outside, but he certainly isn’t on the inside. Actually, it would be interesting to look at his skin cells and see-”

“El!” Louis says sharply. “Harry isn’t a test subject! And where did you even get his DNA?”

El has the decency to look slightly sheepish. She reaches into her bag again.

“I got this.” It’s another zip-lock bag. Inside there’s one of those bloody alien straws. “I got it from Harry’s table the other day.”

Louis stares at her, aghast. For a moment, he isn’t even sure he knows her, but then he remembers the way she used to collect everything and anything when they were kids, the way she’d begged and begged and _begged_ until her parents finally gave in and bought her a microscope for her eleventh birthday.

And after that, there was no stopping her. She’d go out at all hours, all over the place, collecting plant samples and bugs and making Louis cringe away in disgust when she’d hold slimy slugs under his nose.

Still-

“I can’t _believe_ you!”

El drops her arms, her strings suddenly cut. She gives Louis a pleading look, still clutching the bags and pack of notes.

“I’m sorry!” she says, finally dropping it all onto the couch and moving closer to him once more. “I know I should’ve talked to your first, but you weren’t telling me anything and I was _worried_ -”

But Louis won’t have it, not right now. He evades her hand when it reaches for him.

“I can’t _believe_ -!”

She gasps his shoulder, nails firm and just shy of biting through his jumper.

“Louis, listen to me,” El said intently. “You understand what this means, don’t you?”

Louis doesn’t understand anything.

“What are you talking about?”

“Think!” El says sharply, giving Louis’ shoulder a shake. “If it was this easy for me to get this information, then imagine someone serious snooping around! You could be in real danger here!”

“No one’s going to suspect anything,” Louis says, not sure if he actually believes himself. “We’re being really careful.”

El gives him an unimpressed look.

“So careful that you leave bloody rags lying around and spontaneously change the colour of your car?”

“Fuck,” Louis says, dropping his head in his hands.

He rubs his face harshly, can feel his stubble scratching his palms.

“Yes, fuck.” El says, lips pursed tightly. “If you don’t want anyone to find out, I suggest being _actually_ careful from now on. You know what Valenti is like.”

“He seems to have bought what I told him that night.” Louis looks up suddenly, fixing El with a panicked look. “And you didn’t tell him anything, did you?”

El sighs. “No, I didn’t tell him anything. But, Lou, if this gets out of hand, if I see that you’re in danger or that Harry’s manipulating you, I’ll go to the station and tell him everything I know.”

“For fuck’s sake, El, will you stop saying that!” Louis snaps, unable to keep his voice from rising in ire. “Harry didn’t do anything wrong, I’d be _dead_ without him! He risked everything to save me, the least I can do is protect him in return!”

El shakes her head.

“Just because he saved your life doesn’t mean I trust him,” she says, the steel back in her voice. “He might have ulterior motives.”

Louis feels like laughing, or crying - preferably both.

“Like _what_?”

Eleanor throws her hands up.

“He’s an _alien_ , Louis! So who the fuck knows!?” she exclaims. “He’s also been obsessed with you since we were kids, so an ulterior motive doesn’t sound too far-fetched actually.”

Louis shakes his head, torn between astonishment and righteous indignation on Harry’s behalf. He’ll defend him until he’s hoarse if he has to.

“El, listen to me.” He says it calmly, forcing his voice to remain even as he takes her hands in his. “I know it’s not like that, I _know_ Harry.”

El scoffs, but she doesn’t take her hands back. “From the two whole conversations or whatever since he swooped down as your knight in shining armour?”

Louis is very close to losing his already strained patience.

“We connected, okay!” he snaps.

Eleanor blinks at him. “What?”

Louis sighs and rubs at his face again. He’s too tired for this shit. He casts around for some way to explain it.

“It’s like...I don’t know, like a mind meld or something?”

El’s jaw does actually drop open at that.

“ _What_ ?” she asks shrilly. “You let him into your _head_?!”

Louis is _too tired for this shit_.

“It wasn’t just me!” he says irritably, annoyed at the best of times about having to justify himself. “I saw into his as well, that’s why I can tell you that I _know_ that Harry doesn’t have any ulterior motives - not that that’s even crossed my mind in the first place, because it’s _ridiculous_ -”

And there goes El’s arms again, folding in front of her chest like a shield.

“It’s not ridiculous!” she says caustically. “You’ve always been too trusting! And don’t think I don’t know what that look means!”

Louis frowns at her. “What look?”

“That look that you’ve been giving me ever since I mentioned Harry, like you’d throw yourself off a cliff the second he tells you to!” she bites out, cutting a little too close to home for Louis’ tastes. “Jesus Christ, I can’t believe you let him do his alien voodoo on you - you don’t even know if it’s safe! There might be side effects, your might get _brain damage_ -”

Louis’ temples are throbbing.

“El. El!” he says, his palms cupping her shoulders as he presses his hands to them gently in the hopes of soothing her. He can see how distressed she is, how genuinely worried and he hates seeing her like this. “Calm down, okay. No one’s getting brain damage. I’m fine, see? My mind is in perfect health.”

He can feel her sag a bit against him.

“Is it?” she says, but the edge is mostly gone now. She’s clearly burned through her last adrenaline reserves. “I’m not so sure about that right now.”

Louis wisely bites back a retort.

“Look, I understand that this is a lot to take in, but you have to promise me not to tell _anyone_. Not even Liam.” As expected, El doesn’t look too happy about that, so Louis plunges on. He’s not above begging. “Please, El, I really care about him.”

El sighs.

“Alright, I won’t say anything,” she says, clearly reluctant. “But you have to promise to keep me updated. No more sneaking around, no more lying and you _have_ to tell me if you’re feeling anything unusual.”

Louis thinks about the constant feeling of longing, of the silver handprint on his stomach and the way it reacts to Harry’s presence, to his touch-

“I promise,” he says, feeling the lie curdling in his mouth.

But he just, he can’t. This is just theirs, just his and Harry’s. He just can’t bring himself to put it out there, least of all to El who’s clearly having a hard time wrapping her head around all this.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

She really does sound tired now, looks it, too and Louis wraps a familiar arm around her and draws her close into a hug.

“Of course you can,” he says, soft now that the argument has finally run its course. “Do you want to sleep with me or out here?”

Eleanor hugs him tightly, her body heavy against his as she rests her head on his shoulder. She feels half-asleep already.

“With you.”

Louis doesn’t say anything more, wordlessly takes her to his bedroom and pushes some sleep clothes at her. There’s some of her toiletries in the bathroom and there’s been toothbrushes for her and Liam there ever since Louis first moved in here. He thinks the long-sleeved t-shirt he just handed to her is actually one he stole off Liam at some point - it certainly looks big enough.

El disappears into the bathroom and Louis is mostly asleep when she comes back out and crawls into bed next to him. She snuggles against his back, tugging at the covers Louis has hogged for himself.

“I’m just worried about you,” she mumbles into the back of his sleepshirt.

Louis pats her hand where it rests lightly against his ribs.

“I know, love,” he mutters.

It’s the last thing he remembers before dropping off to sleep.

*

Louis has no idea how to tell Harry.

So he does the natural thing and turns up at his house on Sunday morning completely planless.

His throat is sore - not surprising seeing as he spent half the night drunkenly bellowing lyrics as he felt the bass all the way to his bones. Going to the Soap Factory after locking up the pub had been lethal and Louis can’t even remember how he got to the club in the first place.

He also can’t remember when he’d last drank this much. He’s so hungover he’s surprised he’s moving at all, functioning only on some secret stash of adrenaline

He’s still half-asleep when he rings the doorbell, leaning heavily against the wall and grateful that his sorry state leaves hardly any room for nerves.

What he doesn’t expect is Isabel Styles glaring at him, door gripped by a hand with perfectly painted nails and clothes with not a wrinkle to be seen. She’s fresh-faced and impeccable, looking more like someone ready to start a photo-shoot, not answer their brother’s door too-early on a Sunday morning.

Louis blinks at her.

“I wanted to see Harry,” he blurts out, voice shot to hell. Clearing his throat hurts, but he does it anyway while giving himself a minute to find his manners. “Sorry - I mean, is he here?”

Isabel gives him an unimpressed look.

“If I say no, will you leave?”

Maybe he doesn’t need his manners after all.

“Who is it, Isabel?” Harry’s voice drifts out to them from somewhere in the house, getting closer as he goes on. “Is it Niall?”

“I wish it were,” Isabel sighs, sounding terribly put upon as she reluctantly widens the gap of the door. “Come in then, if you must.”

She leaves Louis standing there, disappearing back into the house just as Harry makes it around the corner of the hall. And what is it with everyone looking perfect this early in the morning, is it an alien thing?

“Louis?” Harry says as he comes closer, eyes raking over Louis’ dishevelled appearance. He feels like a hobo. “What are you doing here, are you alright?”

Louis clenches his fingers inside the pocket of his hoody, his head pounding so hard he can barely see straight.

“I’m sorry for just turning up-”

“Don’t be silly,” Harry says, voice soft.

And then his arms are around him, hugging him close and fitting their bodies together. Louis doesn’t even think before turning his face into Harry’s neck and gripping him back tightly. Harry is so, so warm and he smells _amazing_. Louis pushes in closer, presses his nose deeper into Harry’s skin.

A hot palm is running along Louis’ spine, up and down and up again, making something in him settle. It’s so soothing, so comforting that Louis feels himself go even more boneless, all but ready to fall asleep right here, standing up.

“You okay?” Harry asks again, murmurs it straight into Louis’ skin.

“My head is killing me,” Louis mumbles, words all but inaudible where he’s still buried in Harry’s neck.

But Harry must’ve heard him, because the soothing palm on his spine moves higher and higher until there’s gently fingers in his hair and his head is being cradled close. There’s a thumb painting a slow circle against Louis’ temple.

There no flash this time, just a swelling and ebbing of emotion. A wave of warm affection and protectiveness that washes over him and sets his skin alight.

The headache seeps out of him, the throbbing in his temples gone.

“Better?” Harry asks softly.

Louis nods, his voice nothing but a husky rasp when he answers.

“Yeah. Thank you.”

Louis feels brave from the intimacy, wants to say something else to Harry, something silly but secret that he can hide in Harry’s skin and know it will stay just between the two of them. Only, he never gets the chance.

“Am I interrupting something?”

They both jump, clutching each other closer for a brief moment, before quickly breaking apart. Louis feels cold and more than a little bereft. The mark on his stomach twinges in protest at the loss of contact.

“Sorry,” Niall says. His smile is easy, but his eyes are sharp as they flicker between them. “Carry on. I’m just gonna let myself in, shall I.”

He unsubtly squeezes through between them, forcing Louis and Harry further apart and eliminating any lingering traces of intimacy. Louis very much wants to strangle him.

The moment is thoroughly broken and Louis watches Harry shift awkwardly, before shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans as if to keep himself from reaching out to him. Louis wishes he would, wishes for there not to be anyone else in the house so that he could simply walk back into Harry’s arms and show him that it’s okay.

But they aren’t alone and Louis needs to say what he’s come here to say.

“We should-” Harry makes a vague gesture towards what Louis assumes is the way into the living room.

“Yeah,” Louis says to Harry’s back as he watches him go, before slowly following him deeper into the house.

It’s big and airy, the windows unusually large for an English house, filling the space with light. The furniture is plushy and comfortable looking, the hardwood floor shiny and covered by an assortment of soft rugs positioned with no rhyme or reason.

It’s tidy, but not as tidy as Louis might’ve expected. The mantle piece is littered with trinkets and framed photographs - most of them of Harry, Niall and Isabel over the years, some of Harry and Isabel with their parents. The coffee table holds an abandoned tea cup, an uneven stack of magazines and several bottles of nail polish scattered around a laptop, lid open but screen gone dark, presumably switched to sleep.

Isabel is sitting on one of the armchairs, legs thrown over the armrest to let her freshly painted toenails dry, remote resting next to one of her shins. The telly is on, a monstrous flat screen currently turned onto a Bollywood chanel, but there’s no sound.

Niall is nowhere to be seen, but emerges a moment later with two cups of coffee, one of which he hands off to Isabel.

“Sit down, please,” Harry says, unfailingly polite and adorably nervous. He looks one second away from fluffing up pillows. “Would you like something to drink? Have you had breakfast?”

Louis smiles at him, knowing how unbearably besotted he must look, but unable to stop it. It’s worth it for Harry’s sweet smile in return.

There’s a soft, gagging noise and Louis is unsurprised to see that it’s coming from Isabel. He’s never been her biggest fan, but he’s really starting to get behind his assessment now. He turns his attention back to Harry, refusing to be put off.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Louis says.

He’d actually kill for a cuppa, but doesn’t want Harry to leave him alone with Niall and Isabel. Especially Isabel. She’s currently glaring at him from beneath her lashes under the guise of inspecting her nails.

Not wanting to give up his higher ground but hoping to diffuse the situation a little, Louis sinks down stiffly at the edge of the couch.

“I’m not gonna bother you for long,” Louis barrels on, looking at Harry. “I just need to tell you something.”

Harry’s brow creases in concern. “Do you want to go upstairs?”

And it would be so simple to say yes, to take the easy way out and spare himself Isabel’s glares, but he fucked it up so he might as well stand by it.

“No, it’s okay. It-” Louis swallows and gathers his courage. “It concerns all of you, really.”

Isabel’s head snaps up.

“What did you do?” she asks, voice like a whip. “You told one of your little friends, didn’t you? Couldn’t keep your mouth shut-”

“Isabel!” Harry cuts in, voice tight and brows furrowed.

Louis really wants to hold his hand.

“She found out on her own, actually,” he says, fixing Isabel with a steady look.

He’s never been more intimidated by someone, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to back down.

“Who?” Niall asks, confused.

Isabel rolls her eyes. “Eleanor Calder, who else. She loves sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Harry looks mildly alarmed and Niall has leaned forward in his seat.

“How did she find out?” he asks, tone edged with suspicion.

The air in the room has turned stifling, the animosity enough to raise Louis’ hackles and he wants nothing more than to run.

Harry inches closer to him, as if sensing how much Louis needs it. He finally sits, nudging aside the laptop to make room for himself on the coffee table right in front Louis. When he laces his fingers together, Louis can see that the nails on Harry’s pointer fingers on each hand are painted a deep, dark red.

Their legs slide together, Harry’s knee pressing against the inside of his thigh and Louis lets out a breath.

“She found a rag with my blood on and she-” Louis hesitates, chest tight with nerves. Harry presses into him tighter, closer, and Louis presses right back. “She did a DNA test on a straw Harry used.”

Harry stiffens and Louis has reached out before he knows it, plam curving around the closest knee. Harry makes no move to remove it.

“Fuck,” Niall says, seemingly echoing the general sentiment of the room. “She’s clever, though, I give her that,”  

He sounds genuinely impressed.

“Yes,” Isabel agrees, the word edged with ice. “Which makes her dangerous.”

Louis gives her a sharp look. “She won’t say anything.”

“That’s what you think,” Isabel snaps.

Louis narrows his eyes at her. “Listen, I’ve known El all my life, she won’t say anything, she promised.”

He conveniently leaves out the part where El threatened to go to Valenti if she thinks Louis to be in danger. It doesn’t matter what she said in the heat of the moment, El would never betray him, he knows that. She’s just worried about him and needs some time to digest it all.

“Nothing to be done about it now, anyway,” Niall says with a shrug. Louis is starting to admire his attitude, it’s like nothing can ruffle him. “Cat’s out of the bag.”

“She doesn’t know about you two,” Louis says, eyes automatically seeking Harry out. “Just Harry.”

“Might as well tell her the whole truth, then,” Niall says.

Isabel turns to him, incredulous. “ _What_?”

“Niall’s right,” Harry says calmly. “You said it yourself, she’s clever. If we don’t tell her, she’ll notice something eventually and start investigating on her own.”

“Exactly,” Niall says. “It’s better to get it over with and stop her sniffing around. She’ll only end up drawing attention to us.”

Isabel throws her hands up. “Great. What next? We’re going to found a club? Invite Payne for the ride as well?”

“Liam doesn’t suspect anything.”

And Louis feels terrible leaving him out, especially now that El knows.

“Good,” Niall says. “Let’s keep it that way.”

Louis’ gaze strays back to Harry, unbidden. It’s like he can’t help himself, as though he’s in constant orbit around Harry, helplessly being drawn in only to be pushed away again.

“Do you want to be there when I tell El?”

“I certainly don’t,” Isabel mutters.

“Do you want us to be there?” Harry asks.

Louis turns over the thought in his head. On one hand, he keeps thinking that if only Eleanor actually talks to Harry she’ll see how amazing he is, how utterly unthreatening. On the other, he doesn’t want Harry to have to deal with her cold shoulder in case she gets funny about the hole manipulation thing.

“It’s probably best if I talk to her on my own,” Louis finally decides.

There’s enough vitriol being sprayed about with Isabel around, no need to make Harry feel uncomfortable by adding El’s misguided sense of alienophobia to the mix.

“That’s settled then,” Niall says, clapping his palms to his thighs and springing up off the couch. “Now, you said something about breakfast?”

Isabel is already rolling her eyes, but it’s fond now that it’s directed at Niall.

“I should go,” Louis says, finally taking his hand back.

Harry frowns, his own palm rubbing absently at his knee as if to savour Louis’ lingering phantom touch. He looks disappointed, sad almost, and Louis wants to hug him again, wants to press his lips to any stretch of skin he can reach and foolishly promise to do anything to make it better.

“Are you sure?” Harry asks. “You should eat something.”

Louis shakes his head. “Still a bit queasy. Think I’m just gonna go home and conk out for a while. Need to open the pub for lunch in a few hours.”

“Alright,” Harry relents, getting to his feet. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

Niall calls a goodbye after him, which Louis returns. Isabel doesn’t even look at him.

“I’m sorry about Isabel,” Harry says quietly. “She likes to play it tough.”

Louis shakes his head, even though he’s got a bit of a hard time trying to see past the acerbic facade Isabel seems to excel in.

“ _I’m_ sorry about...you know, everything.”

Harry stops at the front door and turns to him with a firm look.

“Stop apologising. None of this is your fault.”

Louis licks his lips. “I’m still sorry.”

Harry sighs.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he says, eyes soft. “Or if you change your mind about Eleanor.”

Louis has to clear his throat, feeling hot and flustered beneath Harry’s gaze. He fiddles with his fringe.

“Thank you,” he says, voice still like sandpaper. “And thank you again for, you know.”

He makes a vague gesture towards his head and Harry smiles at him.

“It’s my pleasure.”

Louis doesn’t let himself think about it, he just takes the leap and steps forward, right into Harry’s space and wraps his arms around him. Harry instantly folds into him, making himself small in Louis’ arms, breath as hot as his palms where it fans over Louis’ neck.

Louis turns his head, pushes his nose into Harry’s curls as he inhales his sweet scent.

They hold on for another moment, two - squeezing each other almost tight enough to hurt, before Louis finally forces himself to step away. Unable to help himself, he reaches up to gently tug at the scarf wrapped around Harry’s hair.

“Text me,” Louis says softly, adjusting it carefully.

Harry tilts his head into Louis’ touch.

“I will,” he promises.

*

Eleanor takes the news about the additional aliens better than expected.

“I thought as much,” she says. “I mean Isabel is his sister and Niall was there the day you got stabbed. It’s not a huge leap of logic.”

Louis shakes his head at her.

“Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

El grins at him. She seems much more relaxed than last time and Louis is glad to see that the shadows beneath her eyes have grown lighter.

It’s well past two in the morning and they’re both a bit drowsy, cuddled up under a fluffy blanket with the telly on in the background. Loose wrappers are littering the coffee table and an empty pot of ice cream is resting in a small puddle of condensation.

“Has Liam talked to you about Sophia?”

Louis turns his head a little where it rests on the back of the couch to look at her.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, it’s just that whenever I try to talk to him about her he brushes me off,” El says, fingers picking at the blanket. “He’s just been acting a bit strange, lately, that’s all. Just wanted to know if he’s told you anything.”

Oh, he’s told Louis alright. Too bad he’s now caught in the crossfire without being able to say anything.

“We had a talk the other day,” Louis says, careful to stick to as much of the truth as he can. “He told me he’s worried about the future. I think he’s just anxious about finishing uni.”

El frowns. “He hasn’t said anything about that to me.”

“No offence, El, but you’ve been a bit busy lately. And you know what Liam’s like, he probably didn’t want to bother you with it.”

“And the Sophia thing?” she asks. “I didn’t even know about it until Sophia told me.”

Louis shrugs, staring at the telly. “He probably feels weird talking to you about it because you’re friends with her.”

“That stupid.” El’s frown is deepening. “Yes, we’re friends, but Liam is one of the most important people in my life and he always will be.”

Louis looks down, absently brushing away a few crumbs.

“You should remind him of that some time,” he says, then shoves an abandoned biscuit in his mouth and turns up the telly, effectively shutting down the conversation.

He loves Liam and El, but he’s not ready to play messenger between them. Dishonesty has already become part of his daily life, he’s not about to start making up lies for other people as well.

*

Out of breath and a little sweaty, Louis silently curses every single stone and rock he’s had to climb over to get to where they are now.

“Isabel wants me to stay away from you,” Harry had told him quietly, last night at the beach.

Louis, cheek resting on one knee, stopped where his fingers had been tracing the lines of Harry’s palm.

“And what do you want?”

And Harry had wormed his fingers in-between Louis’ and taken his hand.

“I want to show you the cave,” he’d said. “Let’s do it tomorrow.”

It’s not even that the hill is particularly steep, but the natural formations around them are tricky and terribly inconvenient. Some are covered in treacherous patches of damp grass and he’s had to grab onto Harry more than once to keep from falling.

Harry, usually as graceful as a newborn lamb, has been all but floating along next to him, feet sure and not a single drop of sweat to be seen.

“I’ve come up here so many times I could do it in my sleep,” Harry had told him, laughing, when Louis complained about it earlier.

Now, conversation has become a little more difficult and Louis has been concentrating on where to put his feet instead. He really should quit smoking.

Wheezing a little, Louis accepts the helping hand and lets Harry pull him up onto the final rock, a small plateau with a solid wall of stone right in front of them.

“We’re here,” Harry says, their hands still connected.

Louis makes no move to let go. He does, however, eye the wall in front of them skeptically.

“We are?”

Harry grins at him, before reaching out a hand and placing his palm onto the rock. It makes a strange, dull sound, then dust starts to rain down on them and Louis coughs.

Of fucking course there’s a secret door, what else had he been expecting?

“C’mon,” Harry says quietly, tugging at his hand and leading him inside.

*

The cave isn’t anything like Louis imagined.

To be fair, Louis isn’t even sure what exactly he _had_ imagined, but this is definitely not it. This cave just looks very much, well, like a cave. And it’s not like Louis expected to find mysterious mood lighting and glowing crystals growing out of the walls or anything.

Or, well, maybe a little bit.

As it is, the cave is dark and damp, just as you’d expect from a cave this close to the sea. A few metres closer and it’d be a grotto, Louis is sure. It looks huge, in any case, the path losing itself in darkness a few steps ahead.

“How big is it?” Louis asks, squinting into the blackness.

“Not as big as it looks,” Harry says, gently tugging on Louis’ hand once more. “C’mon, this way.”

Louis lets himself be led.

They carefully step over a hole, then duck beneath a protrusion from the wall on their left, before Harry leads them around a hidden corner and into complete darkness.

Louis tightens his hold on Harry’s hand, pressing closely into his side. Maybe Harry forgot how human eyes work or something.

But Louis needn’t have worried. It’s only a moment later that the space around them is suddenly lit with a blanket of tiny stars.

“Are those...fairy lights?” Louis asks.

Harry nods. “Isabel put them up. She likes to come here to think. I know they’re not as cool as the ones you have at the pub...”

“Oh, piss off.” Louis laughs.

He looks back at the fairy lights, the whole wall to their right covered in them. They’re enough to brighten the room.

And then Louis catches sight of the lonely, loose plug hanging from the wall and does a bit of a double take. It’s not like he expected the cave to have a socket or anything, but maybe a generator or...something.

“There’s no electricity here,” Louis says slowly, trying to wrap his head around it.

Harry gives him a sheepish smile, dimples and all, and does his conspiratory finger wriggle again. He’s such a dork and Louis bloody adores him.

“Don’t need it,” is all he says, cheekily.

It’s touch him or die from the overload of affection, so Louis reaches over and ruffles Harry’s curls. It ends up being more of a caress and Harry leans into it briefly, before Louis realises what he’s doing and reluctantly lets go. He clears his throat and takes another, more focused look around.

In the corner closest to him there’s some kind of makeshift cot with fluffy pillows and blankets to ward off the damp chill. There’s a pile of books next to it and a little further along a big, iron clad trunk. The wood is dark, but not dark enough to conceal the few patches where the humid, salty air has started to rot it away, but that’s not what draws Louis’ gaze.

It’s the strange oval statue emanating a dull blue glow that sits on top of it. It looks smooth, the base flat despite its otherwise round shape and Louis draws closer, hypnotised.

“What’s this?”

“We have no idea,” Harry says, coming to stand beside him. “Niall calls it an alien lava lamp. It reacts to us, see.”

Harry reaches out a hand, his fingers brushing lightly at the surface and the glow instantly intensifies, washing them both in bright azure light. As soon as Harry withdraws his hand, the glow dims once more.

“Wow,” Louis says, leaning in a bit closer.

He reaches out his own hand, the stone warm but unresponsive beneath his fingertips.

“It’s warm,” Louis murmurs in wonder, carefully pressing his whole hand to the smooth stone-like surface, before letting go and looking down at the trunk.

He wonders if this is where all the stuff from Harry’s planet is; he’s about to ask when he catches sight of what’s opposite him. The metal structure is massive, reaching from floor to ceiling, and consists of four squares each with an oval hole in the centre. Louis recognises it instantly, even without the slimy membrane.

He rises slowly.

“The incubation pods,” he whispers, approaching carefully to take a closer look. “But, there’s four of them.”

Louis knows that there’s someone else out there from what Harry’s told him, but according to him someone moved the pods here, so if there’s a fourth pod then it means…

“There’s not just one other alien,” he says, stunned at his own realisation.

“Yeah, we think so,” Harry says softly. “But we have no idea who they are. We don’t even know if they’re still around. They must know where to find us, but they never did.”

Wordlessly, Louis slips his hand back into Harry’s.

“If they’re still out there, they’ll find you,” Louis says. “Or we’ll find them.”

Harry squeezes his hand and Louis finally turns away from the pods and towards him.

“I don’t know why the people from your planet sent you down here and I know it isn’t easy for you, but-” He breaks off, swallowing around the lump in his throat and nervously licking his lips. “But I’m glad you’re here. I know that probably makes me horribly selfish, but...”

 _But I can’t help it_ , he wants to say. _I can’t help wanting you all to myself._

By the way Harry’s looking at him, gaze deep and eyes dark, Louis thinks he must know it anyway.

“I’m glad too,” Harry says softly.

Louis draws him close, then, straight into his arms and Harry comes willingly, their bodies fitting together with no space left between. It feels familiar by now, necessary almost, and Louis can’t imagine ever going back to a life where he didn’t have this.

And maybe, maybe if Louis gets to hold Harry like this every time he wants to kiss him then the ache in his chest might actually lessen a little.

*

“All these symbols, do you have any idea what they mean?” Louis asks, turning another page of the book in his hands.

It’s heavy, the pages not out of paper but a strange metal that shimmers like spilled oil. Strange symbols cover each page, resembling nothing like Louis has ever seen before. The only reason he even knows that he’s holding the book the right side up is the large symbol taking up the cover page; two half circles bracketing a big dot.

Harry shakes his head.

“Not the faintest. Niall’s been trying to decode some of it for ages, but it’s almost impossible without having anything to go on,” he says, sighing a little. “He’s worked out some patterns, mapped out the symbols that come up the most, but it doesn’t seem to be an alphabet based script. Like, you have to know what the symbols mean, you can’t just decode it by transcribing it. Which, technically, is a good thing because that might mean that we can learn the symbols without knowing the language it’s written in, but...it’s hard.”

“So you have no idea what this could be?” Louis asks, thumbing the book in his hands.

“Well,” Harry says, shifting closer to flip it open once more. “Not really, but Niall has this theory about how it might be some kind of ancestral anthology or something. See-” Harry points to the second page where long lines are connecting some of the symbols grouped together there. “This might be a family tree. And these,” He points to a an assortment of shorter lines and dots that look rather plain in comparison to most of the other symbols. “Might be numbers. Possibly dates, maybe birthdays for example.”

“That’s amazing!” Louis breathes, squinting closer at the page.

“Niall’s really into it,” Harry says. “I’ve been trying to help, but I’m more interested in the astrology side. I’ve been trying to find out where our planet is, but, again, there isn’t much to go on. And no maps or star charts, sadly.”

Louis nods in understanding, his fingers absently tracing along the bracketed dot symbol on the front of the book.

“I like it,” he says. “I wonder what it means.”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “It’s one of the important ones, keeps coming up. Look-”

He goes up on his knees to dive back into the trunk.

The floor around them is already littered with bits and pieces; stray chunks of metal and odd trinkets. Some of it is clearly jewellery; chains so fine Louis is afraid of breaking them just by looking at them, even though almost all of them are attached to huge pendants - a few mirroring the symbols from the book, others simply strange precious stones in various colours that all seem to glow from the inside.

“Ha!” Harry says triumphantly, re-emerging from the trunk and holding up another of those delicate chains. “Here it is.”

It’s neither silver nor gold - nor any other metal Louis is familiar with. But it’s not the strange, spilled-oil-shimmery one from the book either. This one is dark, so dark it’s almost black, no light catching on its edges and when Harry drops it into his palm, it hardly weighs anything at all.

Louis takes it carefully between his fingers, bringing it closer to his face to get a better look.

It _is_ the symbol from the cover page of the book and, whoever the artist, they took great care in making the three dimensional representation as accurate as possible. The half circles are delicate and the dot is a clear ball filled with what looks to be bright blue sand. They are all connected via a thin bar and when Louis takes the edges of it between his thumbs and forefingers, he’s able to twist the brackets in a full circle while the ball in the middle spins at a slower pace. When turned on it’s head, the bright blue sand inside it starts leisurely flowing to the bottom seemingly adhering to not a single gravitational rule.

“It’s beautiful,” he says softly, carefully twisting it once more just to feel how smoothly it turns and watch the blue sand glint faintly in the dull light of the fairy lights.

“You can keep it, if you like,” Harry says.

Louis’ head snaps up, finding Harry already watching him with adoring eyes. He looks tentative, shy almost, and he’s biting his lip again. Louis wants to kiss him so badly it hurts.

“Harry…” Louis protests, or at least he intended it as a protest, instead it comes out more like a breathy sound of longing.

Wordlessly, Harry reaches over and gently takes the pendant from Louis’ fingers. He untangles the thin chain and, in one smooth move, slips it over Louis’ head.

He can barely feel the necklace, it’s so light, the chain almost like a gentle caress against the back of his neck and the pendant warm where it lands on his chest.

“There,” Harry says softly, so close Louis can feel his hot breath against his own lips. Louis feels helpless beneath his heavy gaze. “It matches your eyes.”

Louis swallows, throat dry and heart heavy with want.

“Your sister won’t like it,” he murmurs, voice rough.

Harry’s lips curve into a smile that can almost be called wicked and immediately sends a hot stab of want through Louis.

Harry leans in closer, gently grasping the chain even as one of his fingers hooks itself into the collar of Louis’ hoody and the t-shirt underneath, brushing his collarbone and sending a shower of sparks down his spine. Louis is instantly, painfully hard.

Harry drops the pendant into his collar; it’s even warmer when it touches directly onto Louis’ skin.

“Then we’ll just keep it between us, yeah?” Harry whispers, their foreheads coming together, making their noses brush. “It can be our secret.”

Their heavy breath mingles in the mere inch of space left between them and Louis’ head his swimming with it. He’s drunk off Harry’s closeness, high on his touch and his chest feels like it’s going to burst open any minute.

“Yeah,” he breathes, gripping Harry tightly.

Harry grips him just as fast, holds onto him for another moment, before letting go of him abruptly. The sudden distance is sobering, as is the damp chill closing in on him now that the warmth of Harry’s body is out of reach.

“We should go,” Harry says hoarsely, eyes anywhere but on Louis as he aimlessly reaches for the first thing he finds to put back into the trunk.

Louis takes a deep breath, urging his lungs to remember how to work again.

“Yeah,” he says again, but this time it sounds hollow.

When they finally leave, it’s pouring outside and by the time they reach Harry’s car, they’re both drenched to the bone.

Louis spends most of the ride back silent and shivering. He cuddles up to the heater blasting out hot air on full force and wonders how long he can possibly endure this before he breaks.

He wants to say something, wants to confront Harry about it again - properly this time and with the opportunity to tell him about all the ways in which he’s wrong to deny them both. To deny them each other.

But in the end, he doesn’t say anything at all. And when they hug goodbye, even longer and tighter than usual, Louis can feel the pendant pressing into his skin like a brand.

*

“Sorry, we’re not open yet!” Louis calls, not looking up from where he’s calculating this month’s earnings.

He’s working out wages and is almost certain that he can afford to hire another person. Maybe even two. God knows he wouldn’t mind a bit more help around the place.

The pen slips from his fingers just as the door falls closed and Louis makes a face as he dives down to retrieve it.

“I’m not here for pleasure, I’m afraid.”

Louis’ head shoots up, banging painfully into the underside of the table.

“Fu-” He bites back the curse, inhaling sharply and rubbing against the sore spot on the back of his skull.

“Are you alright?” Valenti asks, peering at him over the edge of the table.

He looks as stern as ever, not a hint of a smile on his thin mouth and his dark eyes looking as though they are trying to x-ray Louis where he stands.

Louis hastily scrambles upright

“Fine, fine, just startled me, that’s all,” Louis says. He wipes his palms against his jeans and clears his throat. “Anything I can help you with, Detective Inspector?”

“I hope so,” Valenti says. He looks completely at ease, which only serves to put Louis instantly on edge. “I was hoping to have a word with you. About the other night when that argument got out of hand. May I?”

Louis does his best to look politely puzzled as he nods, watching Valenti slide into the booth opposite him.

“I already told you everything I know, Detective Inspector,” he says, closing his books and carefully stacking them off to the side.

Valenti fixes him with a solemn look, though his voice is deliberately friendly when he speaks.

“I want to make something clear to you,” he says and Louis can feel the knot in his stomach tighten uncomfortably. He has a very bad feeling about this. “No matter what you might think, I’m on your side, Louis. I’m here to help you.”

Louis feels faint with dread.

“I don’t understand,” he forces out.

“Let me be plain, then,” Valenti says. “Kylie told me that she saw a strange mark on your stomach the other day. She said it was silver and that it looked to be glowing.”

Louis’ knuckles turn white, his grip on the table tight enough to hurt and it takes every last bit of his acting skills to keep the politely befuddled expression in place.

“A glowing mark?” he echoes, infusing it with a carefully measured amount of bemused scorn.

It’s a very effective method, repeating things back at people this way. It immediately uncovers whether someone is bluffing and is a very simple way of making people retreat, a way to say _I’m not crazy,_ you’re _crazy_.

Valenti looks depressingly unimpressed.

“Kylie is simply concerned about you, that’s why she told me. She doesn’t understand the meaning behind such a discovery.”

“I’m sorry, but this is insane,” Louis says firmly, proud of the fact that his voice remains steady even while his insides are shaking apart. “I haven’t a clue what you’re on about. I don’t know what Kylie thinks she saw, but I can assure you there is no glowing anything on my body.

“I see,” Valenti says slowly. “Then you wouldn’t mind terribly showing me your stomach, would you?”

“I’m sorry, but is this part of some investigation?” Louis asks, desperate to wheedle himself out of this. “Am I being interrogated?”

Valenti fixes him with a cold stare.

“I’m here as a friend, Louis. I thought it only fair to keep this between us for now, but rest assured I can call you into the station if that’s what you prefer.”

“On what grounds?”

“Well, for one that you quite deliberately omitted Harry Styles and Niall Horan from the list of people you claimed were present during the incident. A helpful customer filmed the whole thing and turned the evidence over to me the day after.” Louis’ stomach sinks all the way through the floor. “On the footage, it’s clear that Harry Styles was the first one to come to your aid. He actually spent quite a bit of time with you behind the bar before hastily departing the scene with his friend Horan. Would you like to tell me why that is, Louis?”

Is this his life now, Louis wonders. Stumbling from one shock into the next? Forever terrified of saying the wrong thing, of doing something that might give him away. Is this what Harry has felt like, always?

“I hit my head,” Louis says, determined to play dumb. “I must’ve forgotten to mention it. The details are still pretty fuzzy.”

“That must’ve been quite a blow,” Valenti says. “I’m surprised you didn’t have it checked by a doctor as soon as possible. You might’ve suffered a concussion.”

“I’ve had mild concussions before,” Louis says, unrelenting. “I know how to treat them.”

Valenti raises an eyebrow.

“Well, I’m glad you seemed to have made a speedy recovery,” he says, his tone suggesting that he’s seeing right through Louis’ bullshit. But Louis isn’t giving up. “I did mean to ask you where you had your car done. The paint job looks very professional - I was thinking of getting one myself. Can you recommend me the garage that did yours?”

And here it is again, his own stupid decisions coming to bite him in the arse.

“It wasn’t a garage,” Louis says, thinking quickly. “Just a friend in another town owing me a favour.”

“Pity,” Valenti says, sounding anything but sorry. “Now, you won’t mind if I make sure that you aren’t _fuzzy_ about the mark on your stomach as well. I’d rather not have you officially called in.”

Finally out of options and with a feeling of bottomless dread paired with defeat, Louis reaches for the hem of his jumper with shaking hands. He pulls it up.

Valenti frowns at the patch of revealed skin, leaning slightly forward. He doesn’t look the least bit triumphant - actually, he looks puzzled.

Holding his breath, Louis looks down and-

Nothing.

His stomach is completely bare, not a trace of glowing silver left anywhere.

And Louis should be relieved, he should be _cheering_ inside, but all he feels is a wave of crippling disappointment. He wishes he could reach for his necklace, tries to ground himself by concentrating on the feeling of warmth against his chest.

“Mh,” Valenti hums. “It faded on the bodies, too.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in, but when they do Louis’ head snaps up.

“Bodies?” he croaks.

The look on Valenti’s face is unreadable, but severe enough to make the tiny hairs at the back of Louis’ neck stand up.

“What Kylie described to me, a glowing silver mark, I have seen such a thing before,” Valenti says carefully. “Since the crash in 1957 there have been several bodies, healthy people who appear to have simply dropped dead - and all of them had a silver handprint on their chests.”

Louis stares at him. “That can’t be right.”

“I have no reason to lie to you,” Valenti says gravely. “I have the evidence in my office. If you decide to come to me and tell me exactly what happened and how Harry Styles is involved, I can show it to you.”

It’s clever, bloody brilliant really. It’s the perfect lure, served with a side dish of blackmail. No matter which side Louis is on, this is bound to get his attention. Or scare him into compliance.

Too bad it won’t work on Louis either way.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you,” he says, putting as much steel into the words as he can muster. “I’ve never seen such a mark anywhere and, frankly, I don’t believe in conspiracy theories. I already told you everything I know, so if that’s all, I need to get back to work.”

Valenti’s lips are pressed tightly together as he gets up and straightens himself to his full height. Reaching into his coat, he takes out a plain business card and drops it on the table.

“Let me know if you change your mind,” he says. “I really am here to help you. I’m afraid you’re involved in something you don’t understand and I don’t want you to get caught up in something too big for you to handle.”

Louis doesn’t move.

“Goodbye, Detective Inspector.”

As soon as the door of the pub has fallen closed, Louis takes the card and viciously tears into it. He stalks towards the bar and throws the pieces into the bin, slamming the lid shut.

Leaning heavily against the counter, Louis’ fingers fumble for his phone. They’re trembling when he sends the text.

_I need to see you._

*

The necklace is biting into the nape of his neck, the pendant digging painfully into his palm as Louis holds onto it for dear life. It’s a relief, finally being able to touch it without fear of discovery. It’s his only anchor now that the only other visible connection to Harry is gone, wiped from his skin as though it was never there.

When Harry finally arrives fifteen minutes later, Louis doesn’t hesitate, just gets up and walks straight into his arms.

“You’re shaking,” Harry says worriedly, palms hot and familiar as they smooth along his spine. “What happened?”

“It’s gone,” is the first thing Louis says.

Harry only holds him tighter, deep voice low and soothing.

“What is?”

Wordlessly, Louis draws back and lifts the hem of his jumper. Harry looks about as stricken as Louis feels, his lip turning white as he sinks his teeth into it. His hand slides into place on Louis’ stomach, right where the handprint used to be.

It still sets Louis’ skin alight, still makes his spine melt, but it’s not the same live wire it was before.

“When?” Harry asks quietly.

Louis takes a trembling breath.

“I don’t know,” he says, voice raspy and unsteady. “DI Valenti was here. I think he suspects something, he asked me all these questions-”

“What? When?” Harry asks, alarmed. “Just then?”

“Yeah.” Louis licks his lips, gulping down the rising swell of emotion. “Kylie told him about the mark and he came to check, but it’d already faded.”

Harry’s expression daws shut, his jaw suddenly tight. There’s something dark in his eyes, but Louis doesn’t quite understand what he’s seeing until Harry speaks again.

“How did she know about it?” he asks, every word armed with a hidden edge.

 _He’s jealous_ , Louis realises.

And even like this, with his thoughts flying apart and his emotions all over the place, it does something to Louis. Heats his skin and fills him with an odd sort of satisfaction and an instant need to reassure.

He covers Harry’s hand with his own, presses it tighter to his skin.

“I ran into her the other day at the wholesaler’s,” he says, trying to get his thoughts into line. “I was getting something off a higher shelf- my t-shirt must’ve slipped or something.”

Harry’s expression softens, his jaw unclenching slightly, though his worried frown deepens.

“And she didn’t say anything to you about it?” he asks.

Louis shakes his head.

“Nothing,” he says, feeling a fresh wave of anxiety. “But she clearly told her father. And now he shows up and starts talking about bodies and-”

“Lou,” Harry interrupts gently. “You have to slow down, I don’t understand a thing you’re saying. What bodies?”

And Louis knows he’s not making any sense, he _knows_ , but he’s just so scared and so _stupidly upset_ ; he can’t string even one proper sentence together. Unless-

Louis grabs for Harry’s wrists, capturing them with soft hands and bringing them up to his head while looking up to fix him with a determined look.

“Do it,” he says.

Harry stares at him.

“I don’t think-”

“Please, Harry,” he says. “You said it yourself, it’s easier than talking.”

Harry doesn’t protest again. He holds Louis’ gaze while he cradles his head, fingertips sliding into his hair, before their minds come together with easy familiarity.

It’s more focused this time and Louis doesn’t know whether it’s because of practice or because they’re both concentrating on the same thing with a common goal.

“He blackmailed you?” Harry asks once they surface, face dark and jaw tight.

“He certainly tried,” Louis says. “You have to give it to him, he knows how to play the manipulation game. But if this was good cop, I’m not too keen to find out what bad cop entails.”

Harry nods, still clearly pissed off.

“We need to know what he has,” he says.

Louis takes in a shaky breath.

“I know,” he says, rubbing at his face. “I’ll have to talk to Liam.”

“Why?”

Louis meets Harry’s eyes with determination.

“Because we’re going to have to break into Valenti’s office.”

*

“This is a terrible idea,” Isabel says, looking worried for the first time in Louis’ memory.

They’re in Harry’s living room and the early morning sun is glinting off the ocean in the distance. Louis endured another sleepless night and is feeling particularly cross and on edge.

He’s worried about this whole Valenti business, hates that there’s things he doesn’t know about that are being dangled over his head like Damocles’ sword. The last thing he needs is Isabel’s snarky attitude trying his patience.

“Do you have a better one?” Louis asks her tetchily.

Isabel glares at him.

“What if he was bluffing?” she asks, turning to Harry.

He’s seated next to Louis on the couch, his thigh pressed to Louis’ shin where Louis’ folded leg rests between them.

“I don’t think he was,” Harry says. “How else would he know that the mark is a handprint?”

Louis is itching to tangle his fingers in his necklace for reassurance, wants to feel the chain grow taut against his nape and give his hands something to do, but he knows he can’t, not with Isabel and Niall right there.

Harry, as ever tuned into him, shifts and curls a warm hand around his ankle, rubbing a soothing caress into his skin.

“We’ve always known someone else was out there,” Niall says, finally joining the conversation.

His looks just as worried as the rest of them and keeps palming the cup of coffee in his hands.

“Yeah,” Harry says darkly. “Just didn’t expect them to be a killer.”

Louis reaches down and covers Harry’s hand with his own. They share a brief look.

“We don’t know that yet,” Isabel says stubbornly. “There might be some other explanation.”

“We can speculate all we want,” Niall says. “We won’t know a thing until we get our hands on that stuff.”

“Are we honestly discussing breaking into the _police station_?” Isabel asks, incredulous.

“We have no other choice,” Harry says quietly, clearly trying not to set his sister off. “There’s really no other way to get the files and we need them, otherwise we’re sitting ducks.”

“I’m with Harry and Louis,” Niall says. “I need to know what he’s got - it’s giving me the willies just thinking about Valenti sitting quietly in his office and plotting how best to get to us.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Isabel says. “The only thing Valenti has to go on for now is a vague suspicion of a silver handprint.”

“Don’t forget the footage of me and Harry in the pub on the night of the stabbing,” Niall says, looking a little pale.

“Clearly there’s nothing actually on that video, otherwise Valenti would’ve used it to corner Louis more than he did,” Isabel says, but there’s a tight look about her eyes and Louis knows she’s trying to come off as more unbothered than she actually is.

“Or he’s holding back to use it against us some other time,” Niall points out.

How reassuring, Louis thinks moodily, really not liking where this is going.

“And it proves we were there in the first place,” Harry says, sounding increasingly gloomier.

Time to get this circular argument of doom back to the actual point.

“I need to tell Liam,” Louis says.

On any other day, he would’ve tried to ease them into it, but he’s tired and worried and burning to spring into action, not wanting to spend even another moment idle.

“No,” Niall says at the same time as Isabel snaps, “Absolutely not.”

Louis scowls at them.

“He could help us!” he insists. “How else do you suppose we get the files? Wriggle your fingers at the computer and hope for the best?”

The silence that follows speaks volumes.

Harry is biting his lip, clearly not too keen on sitting in the crossfire of the argument and wisely keeping quiet. Niall is kneading even more aggressively at his cup and Isabel is chewing at the inside of her cheek, the anxious gesture slightly ruining her usual glacial and haughty look.

“You can’t tell him about us,” Niall finally speaks up, looking slightly apologetic. “There’s already far too many people involved.”

Louis huffs out an impatient sigh. “I have to tell him _something_.”

Isabel gets up off the armchair, snatching up a nail file with an air of belligerence.

“Make something up, I don’t care,” she snaps, pointing the file at Louis. “But we’re not recruiting another member to the bloody alien club.”

*

The conversation goes somewhat like this.

“If I, hypothetically, wanted to bypass a password protection on a computer, what would I have to do?”

As expected, Liam’s eyebrows shoot up and he frowns.

“You’ll have to give me more details about this hypothetical situation,” he says, giving Louis a shrewd look. “Like what type of computer it is, what it’s normally used for, that kind of thing.”

Louis fiddles with his beer. They’re on his couch, having a Walking Dead marathon.

“It’s...a normal computer, I suppose.”

“Like at home?”

“No, no, at a workplace.” Liam gives him an expectant look and Louis lets out a breath. This was doomed to fail from the start. Liam just knows him too well. “Like a police station?”

Liam’s eyes all but bug out of his head.

“Jesus, Louis!” he hisses. “What the hell? What’s going on, are you in trouble?”

Louis fiddles with his fringe, licking his lips. On-screen, the zombies are gurgling, closing in on their kill.

“I wouldn’t call it trouble, per se…”

“You’d just call it important enough to break into a police station for.” Liam’s eyebrows have practically melded with his hairline by this point. “You do realise that even if you’re not in trouble now, you’ll definitely be in trouble later?”

Louis fixes him with a determined look.

“Not if I don’t get caught.”

*

The police station is small and staffed mostly with people that care only about stuffing their faces with snacks and falling asleep on their keyboards, especially during night shifts. Roswick isn’t particularly high on crime, the most that happens in a regular week is some squabbles between neighbours about noise complaints and some drunk kids drawing dicks on all the alien posters on the outside of the UFO Centre.

Louis may or may not have been one of said drunk kids once upon a time.

In any case, Isabel had scoped the place out the other night under the guise of getting help with a flat tyre and said that there can’t have been more than a handful of people there - if that.

Valenti’s office is on the first floor behind a barred window. The brick wall is smooth and the location of it too exposed, so climbing is out of the question. Instead, Louis and Harry have to sneak around the back and get in through one of the ground floor windows, before taking the stairs inside.

Originally Isabel had argued against Harry going at all, but they needed at least one alien and out of all of them, Harry is the best at focusing his powers. As Harry has told Louis before, Isabel tends to blow things up, especially when she’s angry or nervous, and Niall is the worst out of all of them for getting his powers to manifest on the outside.

So it’s Harry and Louis - the dream team as Niall had proclaimed them, much to Louis smug satisfaction, Harry’s amusement and Isabel’s annoyance.

It’s a straightforward plan, which is why Louis is hopeful they might actually get away with it.

They stick to the shadows, the night thankfully dark - the stars and new moon hidden by clouds speaking of a storm to come. The air already feels heavy with it.

Peering nervously around the corner, Louis checks for movement anywhere around them as Harry carefully unlatches first the bars and then the window.

“I’ve got it,” he whispers, slightly breathless as Louis joins him.

He helps Harry inside first, before climbing in after him, his feet landing softly on the linoleum floor inside.

The hallway isn’t particularly long or well lit and, thankfully, utterly deserted. They check for security cameras and find one further along and another about three steps away. Harry reaches out his hand, the air shifting with compressed energy and the light on the side goes out.

Louis knows they can’t do it with every camera they come across. It’s already chancy doing it with one or two, risking drawing someone’s attention and prompting them to come and check out the problem.

They have to get this done, and fast.

Ducking a little, Louis follows Harry’s black-clad figure up the stairs. There’s a flickering light at the top and Louis’ already strained nerves grow even taunter. That’s just what they need, he thinks bitterly. Some horror-movie mood lighting.

Valenti’s office isn’t hard to find, a big, shiny plaquette on its door letting them know that they’ve found the right place. It’s unlocked and Louis ushers Harry inside before slipping in after him, grateful to be putting a door between them and the hallway, where Louis had felt like a walking target, ready to be discovered.

“I hope this works,” Louis mutters as he powers up the PC and slots the USB drive into place.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Harry says quietly from his place by the door, head tilted slightly as he listens for any movement outside.

Louis pulls out his phone to send a text to Liam.

 _It’s in_.

 _On it_ , is the instant reply, and Louis shares a nervous glance with Harry, before sliding into the heavy leather chair behind the desk.

The screen is alarmingly bright in the dark room, but the blinds on the windows are down and Louis doubts it’s strong enough to be seen through the crack under the door.

On the screen, the mouse is moving and the normal start-up window vanishes to be replaced by a black background with a single white cursor blinking at him. A line of code starts to appear and Louis gets dizzy just from trying to understand what’s going on.

A moment later, the window vanishes and in its place is now Valenti’s tidy desktop.

Louis sits up straighter, heart hammering.

“He did it,” he whispers and Harry gives him a tight smile and a quick thumbs-up from across the room.

Not wasting any time, Louis shoves another stick into a free USB port and gets to work. He opens the terminal and types in the exact command Liam taught him to better filter out data, then presses enter.

Almost instantly a growing list of files appears and Louis has trouble deciphering which of them are truly relevant.

Brow slick with sweat, Louis starts more or less aimlessly stress clicking his way through some files, before catching sight of a folder simply labelled _1957_. Holding his breath, Louis clicks on it and immediately knows that this is it.

There’s blurry scans of old pictures from the crash sight, a few old reports and then he sees them. Right at the bottom there’s a series of pictures showing lifeless bodies on morgue tables and each of them with a glowing silver handprint at the centre of their chest.

“Lou,” Harry mumbles nervously, snapping Louis out of it.

Swallowing the bile at the back of his throat, Louis quickly grabs the folder and some of the surrounding files and shoves it all onto the USB stick. As soon as it’s done, Louis yanks out both sticks and switches the PC off without powering it down.

“Got it,” he whispers as he joins Harry by the door. “Let’s get out of here.”

They get as far as the halfway mark, the staircase just a few paces away, when they hear it. A set of footsteps, loud in the otherwise silent hallway, heading straight towards them. They exchange a panicked look, gripping each other’s arms tightly.

“Quick, in here,” Louis hisses, spotting a broom cupboard to their right and yanking it open.

Harry dives inside, Louis right behind him. The door closes and they’re plunged into darkness.

The space inside is tiny and Louis doesn’t dare move for the fear of knocking something over. He can feel something digging into his shoulder - probably a mop - and is terrified of dislodging it and having it make a racket.

Harry’s heavy breathing is against his neck and Louis can feel him shaking from where their bodies are pressed together.

Careful not to shift too much, Louis turns his head and presses his lips to his the curve of Harry’s jaw, offering the only reassurance he can with his arms trapped at his sides. Harry lets out a soft gasp, the sound almost completely swallowed by the way he buries his face deeper into Louis’ neck.

The footsteps come closer, becoming louder with every step and Louis squeezes his eyes shut and fills his nose with Harry’s scent. He almost fears that, out of anything, the frantic beat of his heart is what’s going to give them away.

The footsteps are right outside now, the dull echo of them ringing in Louis’ ears, but they never falter as they pass them by, eventually fading off into the distance.

Harry sags against him and Louis finally dares to move his stiff arms, cradling him against his body and sinking his fingers into the softness of his curls.

They can’t linger, he knows that, but he lets himself have this for just a moment.

*

They make it outside without another hitch, Harry carefully replacing the bars, before they duck away into the night. Niall and Isabel are waiting for them a few streets down, car parked next to a skip. Both of them look pale even in the dimness of the night.

Isabel shoots forward the instant she catches sight of Harry, hugging him tightly.

“Okay?” Niall asks, the anxious look strange on his usually relaxed face. “No hang-ups?”

Louis shares a brief glance with Harry over Isabel’s shoulder. He can still smell the musty air of the broom cupboard, can still feel Harry trembling against him and the faintest of roughness from the stubble on Harry’s soft skin as he’d pressed his lips against it.

He turns away and meets Niall’s gaze,

“None.”

*

The footage from the night of the stabbing, probably filmed by one of the cat-video watching teenagers, is done from quite a distance away and incredibly shaky. It thankfully doesn’t show much, but, unfortunately, Harry and Niall are recognisable as they rush towards the bar.

As incriminating evidence goes, however, it could definitely be much worse.

That’s the good news, Louis supposes.

The bad news is that all the files they stole, apart from the pictures, are all heavily encrypted and there’s no way of opening them without Liam’s help. If they do let Liam at the files, however, he’ll know for sure what it is they’re up to. Or, at least, he’ll have a lot more to go on.

Louis still insists they should tell him, Isabel and Niall still stand by their refusal and Harry is still caught in the middle of it all. For now, they’re at a stalemate.

“I don’t like this,” Harry says, his lips raw from being continuously bitten.

He’s leaning heavily into Louis’ side and Louis wraps a comforting arm around him.

“We just have to try and keep our heads down,” Isabel says. “Just as we have before.”

“What about the other aliens?” Louis asks.

Niall shakes his head. “Not our problem right now. We need to focus on what’s happening here, where we are. If we stay out of trouble and don’t draw any attention, we’ll be alright.”

“What about if they try come find us?” Harry asks worriedly.

“Then we’ll just have to face them when the time comes,” Isabel says firmly.

*

“I used to like seeing it, you know,” Harry says.

The tide is ebbing and Louis had been watching the sea retreat. He turns his head to look at Harry, slightly confused at the non-sequitur.

“What?”

The sand is damp from an earlier shower and it’s even chillier than usual. But despite everything, Louis feels comforted, relieved to be somewhere that is still untouched by all the other bullshit going on around them.

“The handprint,” Harry says but Louis can hear what he isn’t saying. _My mark on you_.

“I liked it, too,” he says softly, although it doesn’t feel like much of a confession.

He’s sure Harry already knew that.

“But with everything that’s happened and after seeing those pictures...” Harry trails off and looks away. “I’m glad it’s gone, now.”

Louis doesn’t answer, he doesn’t have to. He understands.

Until then, the handprint had been a sign of life and healing, a sign of his connection with Harry, but to see it so blatantly mean the opposite-

It’s just really fucked up.

They’re both shaken and Louis desperately casts around for something to lighten the mood, wanting nothing more than to make Harry smile again.

“To be fair, it was rather too obvious as a keepsake,” Louis finally settles on saying, doing his best to sound airy even though his chest feels filled to the brim.

Thankfully, Harry takes the bait anyway.

“It would’ve been a bit drastic as a permanent tattoo choice,” he says, mustering a weak smile.

Louis can feel his own lips curving.

“The motif was a bit extravagant, glow and all. But the reasoning behind it was quite sound I think.” Louis shifts, eyes fixed to the top of his shoes. “That’s a reason people get tattoos for, isn’t it? To mark momentous points in their lives.” He looks up at Harry, feeling horribly sober all of a sudden. “Doesn’t get much more momentous than having your life saved by an alien. So maybe I would’ve liked to keep it after all. It-”

Louis breaks off, abruptly, feeling raw. So much for lightening the mood.

“What?” Harry prompts quietly, looking intently at him. “Tell me.”

Louis swallows heavily, then licks his lips.

“It made me feel connected to you.”

Harry’s gaze is heavy, his fingers hot and careful as they wrap around his ankle. His thumb brushes a gentle caress to where the skin is softest, right next to the bone at the very edge of his Vans.

“What about now?” Harry murmurs. “Do you feel connected to me right now?”

Louis looks at him, unable to take his gaze away. He feels breathless.

“Yes,” he whispers.

Harry smiles at him, sweet and beautiful.

“See,” he says quietly. “You don’t need a mark for that.”

And then there’s a tingling sensation spreading across his skin, right where Harry’s thumb has come to rest, the nerve endings lighting up right before a brief surge of heat makes Louis’ breath hitch.

Harry draws back his hand and Louis looks down, squinting a little in the dark. Even so, he spots it almost instantly.

Right there, nestled next to the gentle slope of his ankle bone, is a small triangle, a tiny mirror of the constellation of stars he and Harry have been meeting under.

Louis touches it carefully, reverently. The skin doesn’t feel any different beneath.

“Is that how-”

He looks up at Harry, making a vague gesture to where he knows Harry’s star outline is inked into his inner arm. He still doesn’t know exactly how many tattoos Harry has, has wanted nothing more than to go on an exploration of Harry’s body and find and kiss every one of them.

He should’ve known that they, too, are an alien thing.

Harry smiles sheepishly.

“Yeah.”

“Nifty trick, that,” Louis croaks, head swimming.

Harry studies him carefully, apprehension slowly drawing in over his face.

“I can remove it again,” he says worriedly. “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked-”

“ _No_ ,” Louis says firmly, moving a protective palm over the small patch of skin. “No, I want to keep it.”

Harry’s expression eases, his shoulders loosening in relief.

“You like it?” he asks, looking hopefully at Louis.

“I love it,” Louis reassures him. _I love_ you, is what he doesn’t say. “Thank you, Harry.”

Harry smiles, dimples obvious even in the dimness of the night. Above them, the triangle of stars shines a little brighter.

*

Louis knows exactly what that look means.

“No,” he says before Liam can even open his mouth.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” Liam protests.

“I know exactly what you were about to say,” Louis shoots back. “You were going to ask me to perform tomorrow. And my answer remains the same - _no_.”

Liam’s shoulders slump in defeat.

“I just don’t understand why you never want to perform your own music,” he says sadly.

Louis snorts. “Because it’s shit, that’s why.”

“It’s not shit!” Liam says heatedly. “Some of the songs we wrote together are really good. Like _Better than Words_.”

“That’s because you wrote most of it.”

“You know as well as I that that’s not true,” Liam says, all but glaring at Louis now.

This subject is one of the fastest to set them off and Louis was having such a nice night.

“Have you quite finished?” Louis asks, annoyed. “I’ll let Ed know to save you a slot, alright? Now drop it, please.”

Liam sighs. “Will you at least sing a cover with me, then?”

Louis shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Liam, I just don’t feel much like singing, okay? Next week, I promise.”

Liam doesn’t look happy, but he doesn’t press again.

“Alright.”

Knowing that it’s probably best to let the air settle a bit between them, Louis does a walk round the pub to collect some dirty glasses and dishes. He and Harry exchange another surreptitious smile and Louis is certain that at one point he feels Harry’s fingers brushing his knee as he passes. There’s no other reason for sparks to be shooting up his thigh and for his jeans to be growing tight otherwise.

It’s late and people are leaving, so Louis takes his time filling the dishwasher and collecting some more bits and pieces. When he goes to throw out some napkins, he sees that the bin is overflowing and, muttering a curse, Louis decides it’s probably best to take it out now even though the night isn’t over yet.

Grabbing the bin bag with practiced ease, Louis swings it out of its confines and quickly marches it through the back door. The skip is a few paces ahead - Louis had it moved closer to the mouth of the alley because the stink had started to get in through the back door.

It’s pitch black back here and Louis curses some more. He’s been meaning to install some lighting against the outer wall for ages to keep himself and his employees from tripping over random crap on the way to the bins, but always either forgets or is too busy to do it.

Maybe he can have a talk with Ed and Liam, they’re both really good with anything that has a wire coming out of it and Louis is more likely to get zapped than to successfully connect up a lamp or two.

Chucking the bag into the most empty looking bin, Louis is about to turn on his heel and march back the way he came when something shifts in the darkness just at the corner of his eye. Heart immediately in his throat, Louis’ head snaps into the direction of the movement, but there’s nothing there.

He squints into the darkness, fixing onto the point a few paces down and opposite the skip. It’s just at the edge of where shadow meets light, the street lamp from the main street throwing a small half circle of brightness along the mouth of the alley. It makes it even harder to see whether anything - or anyone - is hiding there.

Louis takes a step forward. Something rustles, making him immediately leap back again.

Jesus, he needs to get a grip. It’s probably just a fox, maybe a raccoon.

Something glints in the dark, almost like a pair of eyes, and Louis’ breath freezes in his lungs. It doesn’t much look like a raccoon, doesn’t look like an animal at all, now that his eyes are slowly adjusting to the dark. Inching a little further away against the wall, Louis tilts his head and thinks it might even be a person-

A hand closes around his arm and Louis jumps clean off the ground, letting out an undignified shout and almost toppling straight into the skip.

“Woha!” The hand on his arm tightens and is joined by another, keeping him upright. “Easy there, Tomlinson, didn’t mean to startle ya.”

Louis’s knees almost sag in relief.

“Jesus _fuck_ , Horan!” he gasps. “What the hell are you doing sneaking up on me like that?!”

Niall holds up his hands, palm out.

“I’m sorry, mate!” he says. “I wasn’t sneaking, I promise. Just wanted to talk to you.”

“And that couldn’t have waited until we’re back inside?” Louis demands, heart still pounding uncomfortably fast.

Niall shuffles his feet, looking sheepish.

“I kind of didn’t want the whole pub to look at me while I ask you this,” he says.

Louis raises an eyebrow.

“Ask me what?”

“If you’d consider hiring me?” Niall blurts the words out all in a rush and it takes Louis a moment to even understand them. “You are looking for more staff, aren’t you? And it’d be really great if I could pick up some shifts next to uni…”

Louis frowns.

“Is this some roundabout way of keeping an eye on me or something?” he asks suspiciously.

Niall snorts, actually laughs at him a bit.

“No, of course not,” he says, grinning. “I actually need the money. Not everyone can be loaded like Harry and Isabel.”

“Oh,” Louis says stupidly.

Niall shrugs. “I mean, they’re helping me enough as it is, I’d really like to at least try and pay my own way.”

Louis nods, he can understand that.

“I never asked,” he says quietly. “How come you joined them so late? You don’t have to answer me, obviously,” Louis adds hastily. “I’m just curious.”

Niall shrugs. “It’s okay. Not much of a story, really. I got put into foster care with an Irish fella and he took me there with him. It wasn’t too pleasant, he was kind of a wanker. Used to get drunk and knock me about a bit, so I finally ran away when I’d had enough and came back here to find Harry and Isabel.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis says quietly.

“It’s alright,” Niall says again. “It really wasn’t so bad.”

Louis doubts that very much, but he doesn’t say anything. He decides to steer the conversation into a different direction, taking the opportunity of catching Niall on his own for once.

“Harry told me that you’re trying to figure out those symbols from the book,” he says, trying to sound as conversational as possible. “I was just wondering if you’d maybe let me have a look at it sometime?”

Niall’s eyes bug out a bit and Louis only now realises that maybe letting him know that Harry had taken him to the cave and laid bare all their secrets is something Niall shouldn’t know about…

“Harry told you about that?” Niall asks. “He took you to the cave, didn’t he.”

It’s not a question and Louis doesn’t say anything, but that alone is answer enough. Niall sighs.

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” Louis says firmly, feeling offended. “I know you don’t trust me, but I’d never do anything to hurt Harry.”

“It’s not about trust, you know,” Niall says quietly. “Well, at least for me it’s not. Isabel’s a bit different, but I know you care about Harry. I know you’re on our side. I’m just, you know, worried.”

Louis sags a bit, the wind of indignation taken from his sails. He frowns, more confused now than anything else.

“About what?”

“About either of you getting hurt.”

 _He thinks I’m going to hurt Harry_ , Louis thinks. Does he have no idea how much power Harry has over Louis? How completely he could destroy him if he wanted to?

“I told you-”

“I know,” Niall butts in gently. “And I believe you. It’s just- Harry really does care a lot about you and I just don’t want all of this to come crashing down on him, that’s all. If anything, I’m rooting for the both of you, just so you know.”

Louis blinks, not at all having expected that.

“That’s- thank you,” he says. “Though you seem to forget that Harry’s very determined to just stay friends.”

Niall snorts. “Oh please, as if the two of you were ever _just friends_.” Louis silently agrees. “Harry can be very stubborn and he might seem all quiet and Zen about everything, but he’s really not. Not when it comes to you anyway. He’ll come around, you’ll see.”

“I thought you said Harry and I are a bad idea?”

“I also said I’m rooting for you,” Niall says. “And anyway, I don’t think it matters what anyone thinks, you’re kind of inevitable, aren’t you?”

Inevitable. Yes, actually, that’s a great word to describe it.

“Anyway, we should go back inside before Harry sends out a search party,” Niall says, laughing a little.

Louis chuckles. “Yeah, probably.”

“What were you doing out here anyway, lingering by the bins?” Niall asks curiously.

“Thought I’d seen something,” Louis says. “Probably just a fox, though.”

Maybe if he repeats it often enough it might stick.

“I see.”

The make their way back towards the back door, but before Niall can slip away, Louis briefly grasps his arm.

“Why don’t you come by tomorrow during the day and we can talk about shifts, yeah?”

Niall’s eyes widen. “Really?”

Louis laughs. “Don’t get too excited, you haven’t heard what you’ll have to do yet.”

But Niall’s enthusiasm doesn’t seem dampened at all. With one sweeping move, he’s got Louis crushed in a bear hug that’s strong enough to make his ribs ache. He feels very different from Harry, not quite as warm and he doesn’t smell the same, a little more earthy and less sweet, but with the same hint of ocean breeze.

It’s comfortable though, comforting like one of Liam’s hugs if a lot less familiar.

Louis hugs back, patting Niall on the back.

“Alright, alright,” he says, drawing back when Niall finally releases him.

“Thank you, really.”

“Don’t mention it,” Louis says. “Now off you go, I’ve got a pub to close and Isabel looks like she’s gonna murder me with her eyes any minute. I really hope that’s not one of your special powers.”

Niall laughs. “Nah, you’re safe. Not so sure about me though, Harry looks about a second away from setting me on fire.”

On second thought, he does look rather murderous. It’s the same dark, tight-jawed look Harry gave him when Louis mentioned Kylie seeing the handprint on his stomach.

Louis loves it. He only wishes he could show Harry he belongs to him in the way he wants to.

For now, he’ll have to settle for a soft smile and a small jerk of his head towards the bar. It’s really rather reassuring how fast Harry is out of his seat and coming to meet him.

And all Louis can think is that he’d go to the ends of the earth for him, no regrets and no questions asked.

*

“Stop elbowing me in the ribs!” Liam protests not for the first time.

But Louis is far too preoccupied placing a very tactical banana skin in Eleanor’s way, immediately making Yoshi’s kart spin out of control and ensuring Louis’ place at the front.

El curses from her place on the floor. She refuses to sit with them on the couch; a wise decision seeing as Louis and Liam never manage even one round without squabbling.

“Seriously, Tommo,” Liam grouses, driving his own elbow into Louis’ side, the vindictive shit.

“I didn’t even touch you this time!” Louis protests.

“Aha!” Liam exclaims. “So you admit to the _other_ times!”

If Louis weren’t so focused on the game, he’d be rolling his eyes.

“It’s not like I do it on purpose,” he lies.

“You’re so full of shit, Tommo, Jesus.”

Liam aggressively punches the L button to give himself  speed boost, but he’s already too far behind for it to do anything.

As predicted, Louis comes in first, El second and Liam one before last. He looks ready to chuck the controller at Louis’ head, especially when Louis can’t help but grin smugly at him.

“You two are such children,” El sighs from the floor as she chooses the next track.

“Sorry, mum,” Louis says, this time free to roll his eyes even though it’s lost on Eleanor, who’s still facing the screen.

El just sighs again, but doesn’t say anything more before the countdown starts. She waits to drop her bombshell when they’re right in the middle of the game.

“You know, my lab partner, Aiden,” she says conversationally as she bumps Kooper Trooper off the track. “He asked me if I could introduce him to you.”

“But I’ve already met him,” Liam says distractedly, seemingly determined to do better this round.

“I was talking about Louis,” El says pointedly. “Aiden’s, you know, interested.”

Louis drives Toad straight off the rainbow bridge. He doesn’t wait to see his kart being fished out of the abyss, before turning to El with a glare.

“ _What_?”

El takes one look at his face and gives up the pretence of nonchalance. She pauses the game and turns to him properly. Liam just looks bewildered at this point.

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal,” Eleanor says. There’s an undercurrent of defensiveness in her voice, which is enough to let Louis know that she knew very well this would piss Louis off. “He just wants to meet you. Properly, I mean. He’s seen you around, of course, has been to the pub and stuff and he thinks you’re fit-”

“And it didn’t occur to you to discourage him?” Louis cuts in, unable to keep the bite from his tone. “Tell him I’m not interested?”

“Wait,” Liam interjects, holding up his hands. “Aiden wants to go on a date with Louis?”

El huffs, clearly exasperated. She ignores Liam.

“Look, I know you’ve got this - whatever it is - going on with Harry, but it’s not going anywhere, is it?”

Louis doesn’t expect it to hurt as much as it does, hearing it put like that. But El’s words feel like a punch to the gut and it’s hard to breathe for a moment.

“El!” Liam admonishes, always the one to chide her when she’s being insensitive.

He wraps an arm around him, but Louis feels stiff and unable to respond.

“You know what I mean,” El says, softer now and clearly contrite. “I’m just saying that it might do you some good to take your mind off...everything.” She gives Louis a meaningful look. “And Aiden’s really nice, I think you’d get along great.”

“I’m not interested,” Louis says stonily.

El’s face falls.

“Won’t you at least consider it?” she presses. “It’s not like I’m asking you to marry him, or something.”

“No,” Louis snaps, dangerously close to losing his cool.

Liam and El must know that he’s one wrong comment away from erupting; the only difference is that Liam already looks as though he’s trying to come up with a way to diffuse the situation, while El has the glint of confrontation in her eye.

“Well, he’s coming to the pub tonight in any case,” she says with forced cheer. “We made plans to meet up there, discuss our next project and that, so if you change your mind…”

Louis is off the couch and halfway across the room before he knows it, the controller cluttering noisily to the floor.

“I can’t believe you would do this!” he says, voice already on the rise. “Actually no, I know _exactly_ why you’re doing this. It’s because you have a problem with Harry being-” He cuts himself off just in time, remembering Liam’s presence. He wildly casts around for some kind of metaphor, then ends up blurting the first thing that comes to mind. “Scottish!”

“Harry’s Scottish?” Liam butts in, completely lost now.

“It has nothing to do with him being- being _Scottish_ .” El gives him a _really?_ look, but Louis couldn’t give less of a fuck of what they’re calling it. The point stands. “I’m just worried about you. It isn’t healthy, the way you pine after him even after he told you-”

“You don’t know jackshit about me and Harry!” Louis yells, well beyond calm now. “Or what he has and hasn’t told me!”

“Because you don’t tell me anything!” she shouts right back, now on her feet as well.

“You’re so set against him it doesn’t matter what I tell you!”

“Guys,” Liam tries, looking anxiously between them.

He’s always hated when they fight. Too bad they’re both so bad at backing down.

“That’s because you aren’t being careful enough!” El points an accusing finger at him. “I keep telling you to be on your guard, that you don’t know anything about his-his family tree or his Scottish customs, but of course you go ahead and _plunge right in_ , making yourself vulnerable!”

“You make it sound like it’s a choice!” Louis snaps. “I can’t help how I feel!”

“You can use your brain though and not let him get you involved in his-his _Scottish business_!”

She doesn’t get it.

“You don’t get it,” Louis says tiredly, the fight suddenly drained out of him. “You don’t get it and you won’t listen to me and I’m done with this. I’m done.”

He sees El’s surprised face, sees her open her mouth, but he’s already turned away and just walks out. Walks out and walks away.

“Hey!” Liam is calling after him. “Hey, Lou, wait up!”

Louis doesn’t wait, but he does slow down a little to let Liam catch up. He’s not the one he’s angry with, after all. He doesn’t just prod at Louis until he explodes, doesn’t snoop around behind his back to discover things he isn’t ready to tell and then constantly ignore his side of things.

And, most importantly, he doesn’t just set up weird semi-dates with people that aren’t Harry.

Liam catches up to him finally, slightly out of breath. For a moment, neither of them says anything, they simply walk down the street into the direction of the coast, the air growing saltier with every step.

“You know she means well-”

“Don’t,” Louis warns.

He really doesn’t want to hear it right now.

Liam sighs. “I don’t understand what her problem is, either. And I’m not stupid, you know, I know this whole Scottish business is a cover-up for something else. I know Harry isn’t Scottish.”

Louis’ legs stop and he has to take a deep breath, feeling a little overwhelmed with everything.

“Thank you for not saying anything about, you know, the Valenti thing,” Louis says, looking at his feet. “And I’m sorry for dragging you into this.”

“I already told you, it’s alright,” Liam says. He looks sad, but sincere. “I mean, I wish you’d trust me enough to tell me what’s going on, but I won’t pressure you.”

Louis grabs his arms, squeezing gently. He’s not even sure who he’s trying to comfort anymore - Liam or himself.

“It’s not about trust,” he says, giving Liam a pleading look. “I do trust you, it’s just not my secret to tell.”

Liam just nods, then hesitates, giving Louis a careful look.

“It’s not-” He clears his throat and lowers his voice a little, even though there’s no one around. “It’s not drugs, is it?”

And Louis almost laughs, but his throat is too tight and his eye are stinging. He hugs Liam instead.

“No,” he says into his shoulder. “It’s not drugs.”

Liam wraps his arms around him without protest, never one to turn down a cuddle.

“Good,” he says, joking weakly. “That’s something, I suppose.”

Louis laughs wetly, feeling a little lighter already.

“Yeah, sorry Payno,” he says. “I know you missed your calling as a bad boy.”

Liam mock gasps. “However did you know? I was hiding it so well.”

Louis draws back and lightly punches him in the shoulder.

“You’re an idiot,” he proclaims.

Liam just grins at him, clearly relieved that Louis is smiling again.

“C’mon, let’s get some ice cream,” Liam says, setting out into the direction of the centre of town. “I’ll even let you borrow my jacket.”

“That’s not gonna do it,” Louis mutters darkly, already patting down his pockets in search of a cigarette.

He’s always been mostly a stress smoker and maybe an occasional social smoker, but stress really does it for him. And he’d been doing so well lately...

Sighing, Liam produces a lonely cigarette and one of Louis’ back-up lighters. He doesn’t look happy about handing them over, but he knows Louis would just buy a pack the next chance he gets.

“Thought you’d need one,” Liam says, eyeing the cigarette with disgust. “Just don’t overdo it, okay?”

Louis rolls his eyes and lights the cigarette. “If we could get our hands on some booze now, I might even be able to survive tonight.”

Liam sighs.

“Aiden’s not so bad,” he says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “And he’ll back off once he sees you’re not interested.”

“Good.”

*

The thing is, Aiden _is_ really nice. And funny. And charming, really, and they do get along quite well. The attention is flattering, especially because Louis isn’t used to it.

But he isn’t Harry, so Louis isn’t surprised that he doesn’t feel a thing. Or at least nothing that can even remotely scratch the surface of what Harry makes him feel just by locking eyes with him from across the room.

Only that Harry isn’t here right now and hasn’t been answering any of Louis’ texts, which is strange. They’d talked earlier, after Louis messaged him in a selfish fit of seeking reassurance. He’s still feeling the sting of Eleanor’s words and he’d hoped that talking to Harry would help, and it had.

Louis had told him he’d had another fight with El, not going into an details, but Harry probably at least suspects that it was about him. Or at least something alien-related in any case. And he’d told Louis that he’d come by the pub later to see him. Louis had been looking forward to being in Harry’s arms again since then, but it’s almost gone midnight and there’s still no sign of him.

“-show you sometime?”

Louis’ attention snaps back to the present and to Aiden, who is looking at him expectantly from across the bar.

Louis has no idea what they’d been talking about.

“Yeah, sure,” he says vaguely. It had sounded like some kind of invitation in any case and Louis is suddenly anxious about maybe not having been clear enough in his intentions. “Listen, you know I’m kind of...with someone, right?”

Aiden smiles kindly at him, looking blessedly unsurprised.

“I figured, yeah,” he says easily.

“You did?”

“Well yeah, you’ve been checking your phone all night and your head shot up almost every time the door to the pub opened, so it was pretty obvious you’re waiting for someone.”

Louis feels suddenly terrible. “I’m sorry, I should’ve said something earlier.”

And he’d meant to, he really had, but between running off to serve drinks and helping Ed manage the line-up for open-mic, it just kind of never came up. Not to mention that it had just been so very clear to Louis from the start that he’d more or less assumed he’d been giving off the right vibes - or wrong vibes, depending on how you look at it.

But maybe Aiden thought he’d been flirting? Or well, flirting with intent in any case. Louis has always enjoyed a bit of banter regardless of circumstances, but maybe Aiden doesn’t know that and took him seriously?

“Don’t worry, mate, really,” he says, thankfully still smiling. “You weren’t stringing me along or anything. I have to admit I’m a bit gutted that you’re not available, you’re right fit and great company on top of that, but can’t be helped I suppose. I had a good time in any case, we should do it again sometime. As friends, of course.”

Louis smiles at him, feeling relieved and a little flushed from the compliments.

“Thank you,” he says. “You’re not so bad yourself. And you know where to find me. Just don’t think you can get free drinks by flattering me, cause it won’t work.”

Aiden sighs dramatically, holding out his pint glass.

“You drive a hard bargain, Tommo.” He winks, grinning. “I like it. Now give us a refill.”

Louis laughs and takes the glass, holding it under the tap.

“Fine, just this once I’m ready to make an exception,” he says, sliding the full pint across the bar, leaving a wet trail across the polished wood. He really should remember to buy more coasters. “This one’s on the house. But don’t get used to it.”

Louis walks off to the other side of the bar, giving Jade a friendly nudge with his hip. He raises his voice a bit to be heard over the current person singing their heart out on stage to let her know that the kitchen will be closing in about half an hour.

Jade nods, but not without poking him in the ribs where she knows he’s most ticklish and the whole thing would’ve probably turned into a massive tickle fight if Louis’ mobile hadn’t gone off at exactly that point.

His thoughts immediately jumping to Harry, Louis quickly dives into his back pocket to get to his phone, which only keeps vibrating. Meaning someone is calling and not texting. He glances down at the screen and his eyebrows shoot up. It’s Kylie.

Hesitating for another second, Louis finally decided to get over himself and answers.

“Hey,” he says, hoping he sounds neutral enough.

“Hey, Tommo,” Kylie says, her vowels slightly elongated the way she always does when she’s a little drunk. “We’ve got a bit of a- wait hang on!”

There’s some weird rustling and muffled voices in the background as some kind of squabble breaks out. Louis frowns, concerned.

“Kylie?” he asks. “Are you alright? What’s going on?”

“Lou,” a much deeper voice suddenly murmurs into his ear and even without the sudden jolt down his spine, Louis would recognise it anywhere. “Lou I want you, come get me, please.”

“Harry,” he breathes, concerned and utterly bewildered. He’s already moving towards where he’s last seen Liam. “Where are you?”

“I need you,” Harry says, sounding impossibly vulnerable. “You said you’d always be there when I need you, but I always need you. So please come get me, please.”

“Alright, love, alright,” he tries to sound as soothing as possible. “You have to tell me where you are Harry and I promise I’ll come.”

“I-I’m not sure,” Harry says, voice small.

He sounds like he might cry.

“It’s okay, darling, can you just- can you hand the phone back to Kylie now? I need to ask her where you are so I can come get you, okay? I promise I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“I don’t like you talking to her,” Harry says, petulant now.

Louis should be at least a little annoyed, but all he wants is to wrap Harry up in his arms and coo at him.

“It’s just for a minute,” Louis soothes. “The sooner you give her the phone, the sooner I can come to you.”

That seems to do it, because a moment later Kylie is back.

“Sorry, he took the phone off me,” she says, sounding at least soberer than Harry in any case.

Louis bites back a sharp comment.

“Where are you?”

“I don’t- somewhere at the edge of town?” she doesn’t sound too sure. “I think I can see a Maccie’s round the corner. Ah! And there’s that cupcake place your mum likes so much across the street.”

“I know where it is,” Louis says, relieved. Finally spotting Liam, he makes his way over and catches his arm. “Don’t move, I’m coming there now.”

He ends the call and leans in to talk to Liam. “I need to go, can you keep an eye on the pub and lock up for me in case I’m not back by then?”

Liam frowns. “Of course. But what’s going on?”

“For some reason, Kylie got Harry drunk. They’re off their tits, I have to go get them before they land in a ditch somewhere.”

Liam’s eyebrows shoot up. “Harry and _Kylie_?”

“I know,” Louis says, still struggling to wrap his head around that bit. “You’ve got the keys, yeah?”

Liam pats his pockets. “Yeah, I’ve got them. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks Liam,” Louis says, giving him a brief hug. “You’re the best.”

*

In the end, finding Harry and Kylie proves much easier than he’d feared. For one, because they’re all alone on the streets in a rather deserted part on the edge of town, all the shops in the area daytime business; for another because Louis can hear Kylie shouting before he’s even reached them.

Apparently, Harry has climbed the to the top of the cupcake place and is now refusing to come down, cheerfully clinging to the oversized neon cupcake adorning the shop. It’s blinking rather aggressively and in a far wider colour range than Louis remembers. He really hopes Kylie’s still too drunk to notice anything unusual.

Louis is out of the car before he can think, craning his neck to look up at Harry all the way up there.

As soon as he catches sight of Louis, Harry’s entire face lights up and Louis would be far more endeared if he weren’t so worried Harry might fall off and break his neck.

“Lou!” he calls down happily and Louis gives him a slightly strained smile.

“Hey, Hazza,” he says, wondering if catching Harry is an option in case he decides to launch himself off there. “Think you can come down here, love? Carefully, though!”

Harry complies immediately, thankfully choosing the somewhat safe path by sliding down the water drain to the left.

“Of course he’d listen to you,” Kylie mutters testily from next to him.

Louis is ready to turn to her and demand what the hell is going on, when Harry launches himself at him with so much enthusiasm it almost brings both of them to the ground.

But Louis doesn’t mind, could never mind anything that ends with Harry in his arms. Not to mention that now Louis can keep him from climbing anything else.

“You came,” Harry happily babbles into his neck. He feels unsteady on his own feet and Louis holds tightly onto him. “I called for you and you came for me.”

“Of course I did,” Louis says softly, unable to resist turning his head a little to breathe in Harry’s familiar scent.

“I’m still here, you know,” Kylie grouses, arms crossed.

She’s in a loose t-shirt and jeans, her white trainers almost entirely covered in dirt. Her hair is a mess, sticking out of her clumsy bun every which way and she’s clearly not quite steady on her feet, either.

“What the hell happened?” Louis asks her. “How much has he had?”

“He just had one sip, _one sip_ I swear,” she says. “I didn’t know he’d end up like this!”

“Obviously,” Louis says tightly.

“I want to go,” Harry says, before either of them can say anything else. His face feels hot where it’s still buried in Louis’ neck. “Just us, no one else. I want it to be you and I _forever_.”

Louis, still torn between adoration and worry, draws back gently to feel Harry’s face. He’s burning up, but not sweating, which Louis supposes is a good sign. He’s never seen Harry sweat before, apart from the time he’d exerted himself when healing him.

His pupils are blown and his eyes dark as he stares deeply at Louis.

“You’re so pretty,” he sighs dreamily and Louis blushes all the way up to his roots.

“Alright, time to go,” Louis says, gently folding Harry against his side.

“Can we go be alone now?” Harry asks, eagerly, stumbling alongside Louis towards the car.

Kylie follows reluctantly and Louis is keeping a careful eye on her in case he needs to keep her from falling on her face. She seems steady enough, though. She’s always held her liquor well.

Which clearly can’t be said about Harry. Obviously, alien physiology does not cope well with alcohol.

“We have to take Kylie home, first,” Louis explains patiently. “Then I’m all yours.”

Harry stops suddenly, feet rooted to the ground, making Louis stumble a bit in surprise. He looks at Harry, worried he might be feeling sick, but Harry only pins him with one of his deep gazes, looking very serious all of a sudden.

“Are you really?” he asks gravely.

Louis swallows, throat suddenly dry. His necklace is warm against his chest, and he can practically feel the small triangle on his ankle tingle.

“Of course I am,” he says, never having meant anything more.

 _It’s you who won’t be mine_ , he wants to say, but doesn’t.

Harry comes into his arms again easily, lips hot against Louis’ throat as he sucks a sudden, searing kiss into his skin. Louis makes a helpless, breathy sound, barely biting back the moan building in his chest. He’s the one clutching at Harry now, knees weak and head spinning.

“I did not sign up for this,” Kylie grumbles exasperatedly somewhere behind them, but Louis hardly registers it.

Harry doesn’t either, it seems. He only moves to press another nerve-lighting kiss to Louis’ neck, this time right beneath his ear, before drawing back seemingly satisfied.

“Good,” is all he says.

His lips are red and shiny, as though they’ve been kissing for hours and Louis has never been more turned on in his _life_.

The backdoor of his car slams shut noisily, breaking Louis out of his daze.

“Right,” he mutters, trying his hardest to gather his scattered thoughts and will his dick to behave. “In you get, love. Let’s get this over with.”

*

The drive to Kylie’s house is short and Louis silently prays that Valenti isn’t home - that really would top the list for the evening.

Thankfully, all the lights seem to be off when they reach the house. Louis kills the engine.

“Wait here for me, okay?” He tells Harry. “I’ll be right back.”

Harry doesn’t look happy, but nods all the same.

Louis gets out of the car with Kylie, walking her to the door in silence. It’s strange, doing something he’s done countless times before, only for it to be so completely different this time.

“Well, good to know that this is how you stop ignoring me,” Kylie says, once they’ve reached the front door.

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” Louis protests reflexively, knowing very well how big of a lie it is.

“Oh, please,” Kylie scoffs, but her face softens a moment later. “Listen, I’m sorry about all the texting, alright? It was just hard for me and I just- You told me we could still be friends and I believed you.”

Louis feels like the worst type of arsehole. “I meant it, I do want to be friends.”

“In that case, actually talking to me might help.”

Louis sighs, rubbing at his tired face. His contacts have started twinging again. He still isn’t getting enough sleep and his eyes are sensitive, protesting at the best of times after a day of having something stuck in them.

“I needed some space,” he says. “It was weird for me too.”

“You could’ve told me that, you know.”

“I did.”

“Yeah, by ignoring me,” Kylie says sharply. “I meant using actual words, Louis. I know you know how, you seem to be doing just fine with Harry as far as I could see.”

Louis can feel his face shuttering, can feel his hackles rise.

“Don’t bring Harry into this.”

Kylie deflates.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I think you’re adorable together. I’m happy for you, you know.”

Louis feels even worse now.

“Thank you, that-” He swallows. “Thank you, Kylie. And I’m sorry about the ignoring thing.”

Kylies smiles at him, small but genuine.

“And I’m sorry about phone terror thing.” She shifts, awkwardly from foot to foot. “Are you ready to be my friend again? Because I really miss you, you knob.”

Louis can feel something in his chest unlock and it’s as though a small weight has been suddenly lifted off him.

“Yeah, we can be friends again,” he says, giving her a weak grin. “I’ll even stop ignoring you.”

Kylie brings a hand to her chest. “Wow, I feel truly honoured.”

“Come here, you,” Louis says. “Give us a hug.”

Kylie doesn’t hesitate, hugging him tightly for a moment.

“You’re a real tosser, you know that,” she says into his shoulder.

She sounds a little weepy and Louis is trying his hardest not to join her. He hates how easily he’s set off at the best of times, but seeing people he cares about sad is definitely the quickest way to get him bawling.

“I’m sorry.” He gives her a squeeze. “For everything.”

“Not your fault, you idiot,” she says gently, before drawing back. “I’m sorry, too, by the way. I didn’t mean to get you into trouble with my dad. I still have no idea what’s going on, but I think I made it worse by telling him about that silver thing on your stomach.”

Louis does his best to keep any reaction off his face.

“It’s alright,” he says. “You didn’t know. But now that we’re back to not ignoring each other, I’d appreciate if you come to me first, okay?”

“Of course I will,” she promises. “I’m here if you need anything okay?”

“Same to you.” Louis gives her a gentle nudge. “Congratulations on the game, by the way. I heard you did well.”

“Thank you. It was a great game,” she says, smiling. “We should go kick a ball round at the park again sometime. I’ve missed Liam’s grumpy face when he’s being beaten.”

Louis laughs. “I’ll let him know you said that!”

“Be sure you do,” she says. “I’m glad we worked things out.”

“Me too,” Louis says. He hesitates briefly. “Listen, Harry didn’t, like, say anything weird did he? While you were with him tonight?”

Kylie gives him a strange look.

“He says weird shit all the time. He’s a weird person.”

Louis lets out an exasperated breath. “I know, that’s not what I meant. More like, something really crazy?”

“I don’t know what you expect me to say, but he spent most of his time talking about you and crying all over me about how he’d been stupid and missed his chance and now you’re going out with someone else.”

Louis freezes. “What? There is no one else!”

Kylie pats his shoulder. “You should tell him that, then.”

*

When Louis gets back to the car, Harry is gone.

He has time to thoroughly panic for about a minute, until he finds him on a swingset on the deserted playground just across the street. Trying to calm his frantically beating heart, Louis lets out a breath and goes to him.

“I thought I told you to wait in the car,” Louis says, the tips of their shoes touching as he looks down at Harry’s curly head.

There’s no scarf tied around it, Louis realises, most likely because Harry lost it sometime during the night. Harry looks up at him, his hair falling into his eyes. Louis reaches out to brush it back without thought.

Harry’s still burning up, eyes glazed and fever-bright, apparently just as drunk as ever.

“It was taking too long,” Harry says pitifully. “And you were hugging her. I didn’t like that.”

Louis sighs again and lets his fingers sink deeper into Harry’s silky hair, making a few gentle circles against Harry’s scalp. As predicted, Harry instantly melts into him, his hot forehead coming to rest on Louis’ stomach.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “We were just talking some stuff out.”

“I don’t care,” Harry mutters, now back to being petulant. “I don’t like other people touching you.”

“No one can touch me the way you do,” Louis says quietly.

A persistent curl snags against Louis’ finger, making him accidentally tug on it harder than intended. Harry’s breath hitches and Louis has to take a few calming breaths as heat pools in his stomach once more.

Louis clears his throat, and does it again.

Harry whimpers and presses closer and Louis is back to being painfully hard. Also, he’s definitely going to hell for this.

He scrapes together the remaining tatters of his control.

“C’mon,” he says quietly. “We should go. I need to get you somewhere safe where you can sober up.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” Harry slurs into his stomach, nuzzling into his jumper and making Louis’ spine melt. “I only had a tiny sip and it’s not wearing off. Besides-”

He finally lifts his head, then gets up on shaky feet. Louis instantly wraps his arms around his waist.

“I like myself like this,” Harry says. “It’s better than regular me, regular me is stupid and says stupid things. And boring. Definitely boring, always wanting to do the right thing. This-” Harry throws his arms open wide. “This is the _real_ me. And the real me only does things I really want to do and fuck everything else!”

“Alright, love,” Louis says, a bit dizzy from the onslaught of words. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Harry talk so much in one go before. “But you can be the real you somewhere safer than here, okay?”

“See!” Harry says accusingly, far too loudly for a residential area at almost one in the morning. Louis shushes him gently, but Harry clearly doesn’t give a shit about waking anyone. “You prefer real me too! You never call regular me sweet names!”

Louis hadn’t even realised how much he’d been doing it until Harry mentioned it just then. He feels his cheeks heat up, but refuses to regret it.

“I can do, if you like,” he says.

“I like,” Harry says firmly. “I want to be your favourite person. Am I your favourite person, Lou?”

“Of course you are, Hazza,” Louis says soothingly.

He tries to encourage Harry to move and, to Louis’ surprise, he complies and lets himself be walked back into the direction of the car. Until, that is, they are about halfway there and Harry seemingly changes his mind and twists free of Louis’ grip to walk into the opposite direction, further down the street. Louis follows hastily.

“Harry,” he says exasperatedly. “Harry, love, where are you going?”

“We’re running away together,” Harry informs him, taking Louis hand as soon as he’s close enough.

Louis decides it’s best to humour him for now.

“Alright,” he says, amused. “And where are we running away to?”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t care. I’m ready to run! I’m gonna take you away from all the other boys who want to take you away from me.”

Ah, this must be what Kylie mentioned. Louis is just as confused as before.

“There are no other boys, Harry,” he says, squeezing Harry’s hand gently.

“There was that boy in the pub tonight!” Harry protests.

Louis frowns. “But you weren’t at-”

He breaks off abruptly. Harry was there. He must’ve come, just like he’d promised, only that Louis hadn’t even noticed because he was too busy working and joking with Aiden. _How_ couldn’t he have noticed?

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Louis asks. “I was waiting for you all night.”

“You looked cozy enough,” Harry says, an unfamiliar edge of bitterness to his words. He softens almost immediately again. “But it’s okay, it’s stupid regular me’s fault for pushing you away.”

This third person talk is getting a little confusing. But this is important, this is Louis’ chance to find out what the hell has been going on with Harry. And he just admitted that he’d been pushing Louis away deliberately.

But Harry is also drunk and vulnerable and all Louis want to do it to protect him - if necessary even from Louis himself.

“I really want to talk about this,” Louis says, stroking Harry’s fingers with his own. “But we’ll do it tomorrow, okay? Once you’re feeling better.”

“But I’m feeling fantastic!” Harry says, freeing his hand only to wrap both arms around Louis and spin them around in the circle. Louis laughs, unable not to. “I’ve never felt better, _ever_!”

And then Harry’s lips are back on his neck, his hands burning hot against Louis’ skin where they’ve sneaked up the hem of Louis’ jumper. Louis thinks he might actually faint with want.

“I go crazy when I’m not with you,” Harry mutters feverishly.

Louis can feel the edge of teeth when Harry sucks another bruising kiss into his throat. Louis’ back collides with something solid and he’s gasping like a drowning man, trying his hardest to convince himself that they have to stop.

“Harry,” he says weakly, intending it as a protest.

It comes out as a breathy moan instead.

Above them, something explodes and Louis jumps, clutching at Harry and snapping his head up. They’re leaning against a street lamp, Louis realises. A street lamp that is showering them with little shooting stars that vanish as soon as they touch the ground.

“Did you just-?” Louis asks, breathless and full of wonder.

Harry grins at him. Louis wants to press his lips to his dimples.

The shooting stars turn into a rainbow of sparks, exploding around them like tiny fireworks, tiny particles lingering around them like glitter. It’s absolutely mesmerising.

“Someone will see,” Louis protests weakly, but his heart isn’t in it.

“Let them see, then,” Harry says gently nuzzling against him, their noses brushing.

Louis can feel Harry’s hot breath against his lips and it takes every last bit of strength to not close the gap between their mouths.

“You’ll regret this tomorrow,” Louis says, barely above a whisper. “When things are back to normal.”

Harry kisses his nose, then his cheek. Sweet, lingering kisses.

“Never. I’ll still have you, won’t I?” He draws back, eyes full of adoration. “Besides, what’s so great about being normal?”

 _I love you_.

But Louis can’t say it, not like this. He swallows.

“What happened to running away?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry looks delighted. “Can we run away to your flat? I’m really thirsty.”

Louis laughs, feeling ready to burst from love for this stupid, beautiful, perfect boy.

“C’mon, Mr Real Me,” Louis says affectionately, slipping his hand back into Harry’s and finally successfully dragging him off back towards the car. “Let’s get you something non-alcoholic to drink.”

*

The pub is locked up and deserted by the time they reach it and Louis is glad for it. When he unlocks the back door and steps inside, he can even see that Liam must’ve taken out the bin and there’s no dirty dishes anywhere in sight. He really does have the best friends in the world.

There’s a post-it stuck to the bar and Louis peels it off to read it.

_Let me know when you’ve found him. -Niall_

It’s followed by a string of numbers and Louis quickly fishes out his phone to save the number. He’s barely sent the text to reassure Niall, before the note is snatched out of his hand.

“What’s that?” Harry asks sternly, squinting and clearly having trouble focusing.

Then he promptly tears it up.

Louis is too amused to be annoyed. “What are you doing?”

“You’re not allowed to have anyone else’s phone number,” Harry declares, throwing the pieces in the air and letting them rain down on them like confetti. “Especially not from that wanker who tried to steal you off me!”

Louis can’t help laughing. He also can’t help stepping closer and wrapping his arms around Harry.

“No one’s stealing me from you, babe,” he says, softly. “I won’t let them. You’re the only one allowed to steal me.”

Louis knows he shouldn’t be saying these things, not when he knows that Harry isn’t in his right mind. But he’s already denying himself as best he can, keeping his mouth shut is just too much to ask. Especially with Harry squeezing him close and fitting their bodies together.

“I hope you can forgive regular me for being a knob,” Harry mumbles against his neck.

“I’m sure regular you had his reasons,” Louis says and almost rolls his eyes at himself when he realises he’s started talking in that idiotic third person as well. He’s in love with in an idiot.

“They were stupid reasons,” Harry says petulantly, but quiets down once Louis starts stroking his hair again.

*

The alcohol isn’t wearing off.

Louis made Harry drink about three pints of water, even made him some tea, but nothing seems to be doing it. They’re sitting at the bar now and Louis’ limbs are stiff and aching, but he doesn’t dare move them upstairs to his flat. At this point, he doesn’t even dare move them to a booth for fear of finally snapping and climbing into Harry’s lap, where he no doubt would end up kissing him stupid and gracelessly come in his pants while doing it.

Harry has claimed his right arm and has been tracing his fingers across Louis’ skin. Everything feels shivery and over-sensitised and by now Louis has been so hard for so long now he’s surprised there’s a single drop of blood left in his brain for basic function.

It’s the sweetest torture and he never wants it to stop.

“Do you remember how we met?” Harry asks, tracing odd shapes into Louis’ inner forearm

“I do, actually,” Louis says, cradling his own cup of tea with his free hand, simply to have something to hold on to as Harry lights another trail of sparks down his arm. “You bumped into me in the toilets, almost peed on me, too.”

“I was pretty mortified,” Harry admits cheerfully. “I thought you might punch me or something, but you were so nice. Do you remember what I said?”

Louis frowns, trying to remember. “I’m not sure.”

Harry doesn’t seem offended. He resumes his arm caresses, only this time, Louis thinks he recognises letters being shaped against his skin.

“I said _oops_ ,” Harry says just as the letters bloom across his skin in stark black. He blinks. “Oops, I didn’t mean to do that.”

Louis can’t help it, he laughs again. “You are such a weirdo, Harry, Jesus. Not even being drunk excuses you.”

“Hey, we were having a moment!” Harry protests.

“Were we?” Louis asks, still helplessly amused and slightly loopy from lack of sleep. “I think we’ve had more than enough moments tonight, let my poor dick recover, will you?”

Harry’s head snaps up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- Is it okay?”

He seems genuinely concerned and Louis can’t do anything but laugh harder.

“Oh god, this is priceless,” he gasps. “I can’t wait to see your face when you think back on this tomorrow.”

But Harry is back to studying his arm now, squinting at it in concentration. Louis thinks he might offer to erase it or something, but he couldn’t have been more wrong.

“This looks silly,” he complains and Louis loves him so much.

“Don’t look at me,” Louis says. “You put it there.”

“I think I need to add something,” Harry decides. “Something to put it into context.”

“No dicks please,” Louis says. “And no bathrooms.”

Harry’s face falls a little.

“Oh. Okay, then.” He peers hopefully at Louis from beneath his curls. “Not even a little one? No one will even see it!”

Louis is gone, very far gone - but not _that_ far.

“No dicks,” he says firmly.

Harry sighs, as though it’s a great tragedy that Louis won’t let him alien-tattoo a schlong on his arm.

In the end, Harry - very carefully and with his tongue peeking out at the corner of his mouth - draws a stick figure tumbling off a wonky skateboard. He even draws a line for the road, but ends up doing it in the wrong direction.

Louis might have been more bothered about the whole thing if he hadn’t already successfully uncovered a kink for Harry leaving permanent marks on him. Not to mention that every line feels like it own, tiny little orgasm and Louis is all but boneless at the end, each and every one of his nerve-endings overwhelmed and overstimulated.

There’s a lingering buzz beneath his skin and if his dick wasn’t still hard enough to drive nails through walls, he’d think he’d just come his brains out. He wonders what it would feel like if they were actually naked while doing this. Naked and pressed together, preferably with their Harry’s mouth on his own.

Louis can’t believe he still hasn’t tasted Harry’s lips after all this.

“There,” Harry declares proudly.

Louis glances down at the finished drawing once more.

“Lovely,” he says, throwing a boneless arm across Harry’s shoulders and drawing him close.

Harry comes easily, kissing Louis’ cheek. “You’re lovely.”

“If I weren’t so worried about what that alcohol is doing to your alien insides, I’d get you drunk more often. Apparently it would’ve saved me quite a bit of pining and doubting.”

“I knew it,” Harry mumbles. He’s started to sound a little sleepy, so maybe the drunkenness _has_ finally started to wear off. “You do like real me more.”

Harry’s hot palm is at the nape of his neck, playing gently with the chain resting there.

“You’re my favourite person, remember?” Louis says, pressing his lips to Harry’s sweet smelling hair. “I like all the yous.”

And then, with just the smallest tilt of Harry’s head, with a tiny tug on the chain, Harry’s lips slide sweetly against his own and stars explode all around them.

*

It’s different, connecting like this. It’s not at all about the images, although there are some, it’s about the sensation, about feeling what Harry is feeling. About watching a sun go supernova when their tongues touch for the first time.

Louis can hardly feel his body anymore, feels like he’s free-falling through space while at the same time safely held in Harry’s arms.

He only clings to him tighter, kisses him harder while the milky way stretches out in front of him.

There’s a glint in the distance, the vague outline of a triangle rushing closer-

And then it all just...stops.

It’s like coming up for air, but not in a good way. More like being thrown into an ice bath and gasping until your lungs ache.

Louis’ eyes snap open. Harry’s looking back at him with wide, clear eyes, all traces of the soft silliness gone. Louis knows then. Knows that Harry is absolutely, one hundred percent sober and utterly horrified at himself.

Louis suspected all along that this might happen, had tried to steel himself for it.

It’s still utterly crippling to be faced with it now.

“I-” Harry says, then breaks off immediately. His voice is deeper, rough with lingering desire and Louis wants nothing more than to just keep on kissing him. “I’m so sorry.”

Louis draws back and into himself, wishing for a way to hold his heart together and keep it from breaking.

“No, I’m sorry,” he says hollowly. “You were really out of it, I shouldn't have let that happen.”

Harry’s gaze drops to his arm and he blanches.

“Did I-?”

Louis turns his arm and cradles it against his chest, guarding the last piece of tonight against harsh reality. He nods.

“Louis, I’m _so_ -”

“Please don’t say it again,” Louis pleads hoarsely and Harry’s mouth instantly snaps shut. “Did you- did you mean everything you said tonight?”

Harry looks small and miserable and so very far away from him.

“I don’t remember,” he whispers.

Louis’ eyes are stinging, his vision already blurring.

“I didn’t mean to ruin your night,” Harry says helplessly.

Louis shakes his head and feels the first tear spill over. He wipes harshly at his face, the hem of his jumper rough against the sensitive skin beneath his eyes.

“You didn’t,” he says, voice barely audible. “I-I need to-” He gestures vaguely towards the stairs, hands trembling. “Please lock up behind yourself.”

And then he flees.

*

Louis wakes up feeling like utter shit. As if it was him that had spent the better part of last night drunk out of his mind - or whatever the equivalent to alien drunkenness is.

His head is pounding, his eyes and cheeks crusty with dried tears. He doesn’t even attempt to put in his contacts.

He takes a shower, slips on his comfiest hobo-clothes and, finally, his glasses. He pockets his phone without checking it, not ready to face the fact that Harry probably hasn’t tried to contact him.

His newly decorated arm is covered by at least two long sleeves and Louis is grateful for it.

He doesn’t regret it, would never want it gone, but he can’t stand to look at it just yet.

*

Louis is staring fixedly on the empty stretch of road before him, trying his hardest to keep his mind blank and concentrate on driving.

He’s concentrating so hard, in fact, that he doesn’t notice when smoke first starts to rise from the hood of the car. Only when a cloud has formed does Louis realise that something is wrong. Not a moment later, there’s a deafening bang and thick plumes of dark smoke start seeping through the cracks of the hood.

The car stops.

Louis, heart hammering from the fright, takes a few deep breaths and brings his palm down on the steering wheel.

“Fuck!”

Of course his car has to break down in the middle of bloody nowhere, _of course._

Throwing open the door, Louis jumps out and goes to inspect the damage. He doesn’t have a clue about cars, has never been the DIY-type, and doesn’t dare touch the hood that’s still emitting copious amounts of smoke.

The first person he thinks of is, of course, Harry. But considering how they left things last night, Louis is hesitant.

He considers calling Liam, then remembers that he said something about going out of town with Sophie for the day. Between Louis and Liam, El has never needed a car of her own.

Ed doesn’t have a car either and Stan is out of town as well. Maybe Jade?

“Fuck,” Louis says again, roughly rubbing his face.

Taking another look at the still fuming hood, Louis sighs and is about to reach for his phone when he catches sight of a car rounding the bend, coming from the opposite direction. Stepping a little closer to the edge of the lane, Louis throws up an arm and waves, hoping the other person feels charitable, is maybe even willing to take him with. The coastal road doesn’t fork off anywhere for miles, so whoever is coming this way must pass through Roswick at some point.

There’s only one person inside the car; a fella with dark hair around Louis’ age. He’s clearly spotted Louis and is slowing down, coming to a halt next to where he’s standing.

His window is already rolled down as he leans over to talk to Louis.

“Alright, mate?” he asks. “Need help?”

Louis gives him a relieved smile. “Yeah, that’d be brilliant, thanks.”

The other man gives him a small grin and draws the handbrake, before killing off the engine.

“Let’s have a look, then,” he says, getting out of his car. “I’m Zayn.”

Louis shakes the proffered hand.

“Louis,” he says. “Thank you so much. I don’t want to put you through any trouble, though, I’d be grateful for just a lift.”

“Nah, it’s alright,” Zayn says as he steps up to the hood. “I know my way round a car, maybe I can get it to run again.”

“Thank you,” Louis says again, watching Zayn open the hood with practiced ease and no hesitation at all. “As you might’ve noticed, I’m utterly useless with stuff like this. I can just about change my oil and that’s it.”

“You’d be surprised,” Zayn says as he leans over the car. “A lot of people don’t even know how to do that.”

Louis follows suit, more out of curiosity than anything else. He doesn’t expect to actually see what’s wrong.

“That’s a sick necklace, mate.”

Louis looks down, finding his necklace gently swaying above the open hood, the bright blue sand catching the light and looking almost ethereal. Louis hasn’t had much opportunity to examine it in natural light, let alone in direct sunlight. Usually he’s so paranoid about flashing it around that he waits until he’s alone in his flat to take it out. Mostly he ends up twisting it round and round in the dark of his bedroom when he can’t sleep.

To see it like this, almost alight with an inner glow, makes it look more alien than it ever has.

Louis hastily stuffs it back into his t-shirt.

“Thanks,” he says, hopefully sounding casual enough about it.

“Where’d you get it?” Zayn asks curiously.

“It was a gift,” Louis says, hoping it’s vague enough.

“Girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

Louis gives him a weak smile. “Something like that.”

“Ah,” Zayn says knowingly. “It’s complicated, right?”

Louis laughs. “Yeah. You got experience with that kind of thing?”

Zayn shakes his head. “Nah, mate. I don’t do relationships. Got no head for it. Besides, I just moved back here with my cousin. We were travelling around a lot, so I didn’t really have much of an opportunity to meet someone.”

“Oh, cool,” Louis says, finding it surprisingly easy to talk to Zayn. “Where’d you move back from?”

“The States,” Zayn says, throwing Louis a grin. “It’s pretty cool hearing some familiar accents again.”

Louis laughs. “Understandable.”

He watches Zayn studying the car.

“Well, this sure looks like an antique,” he says.

“It’s a piece of crap, you can say it. My friends call it a death trap.”

Zayn chuckles. “I wouldn’t go that far, But yeah, it’s seen a few years that’s for sure. Paint job’s great, though. Love the colour and it’s done really even.”

“Thanks,” Louis says awkwardly. First the necklace, now the alien paint job, great. “So, what’s the verdict?”

“I can fix it,” Zayn says, full of confidence.

Louis looks at him in surprise. “What, really?”

He eyes the last strings of smoke doubtfully.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Zayn says, shrugging. “Just got clogged up a bit.”

Louis nods solemnly, thinking that Zayn could be telling him absolutely anything and he’d probably believe him. Zayn must know it too, or at least it looks that way by his amused expression.

“Do you have any pliers?”

“Oh, yeah, must do,” Louis says, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve got a tool box in the boot, hang on I’ll get it.”

Louis thankfully finds the it where he’s last seen it, squashed in next to a bag of UFO themed salt shakers and a inflatable alien in lime green.

“Cheers,” Zayn says when Louis hands him the tools. “And maybe a rag, or something?”

“Of course!”

Louis retrieves a dirty rag that looks bad but smells clean enough, before rounding the car once more and handing that to Zayn as well, who’s already got his head stuck deeply into the open hood.

After another round of pokes and prods that look utterly useless to Louis, Zayn emerges, wiping his hands.

“There, that should do it.”

Louis raises his brows, but bites his tongue.

“Go on,” Zayn urges. “Try starting it up.”

So Louis does and-

His jaw almost drops open in surprise when he turns the key in the ignition and the motor immediately springs to life - far easier than it has in years.

“Oh my god, what did you do to it?” he asks, incredulous. “It doesn’t even make these weird rattling noises anymore when I try to press down on the gas!”

“Told ya,” Zayn says, shrugging awkwardly and releasing hood-prop, before closing the hood with a easy push. “Just needed a bit of tinkering.”

“Thanks again, honestly,” Louis says, clapping Zayn on the back. “You’re a lifesaver. I feel almost bad just taking your help like this, at least let me take you to get a pint or something to say thank you properly.”

“Really, it was no trouble,” Zayn says, handing back the rag, even dirtier than before. “I need to be off, anyway. I was supposed to pick up my cousin, like, fifteen minutes ago. We’re going house hunting.”

“I see,” Louis says. “Don’t let me keep you then and good luck with the hunt.”

“Thanks, Louis,” he says. “I’ll see you around.”

And with that, Zayn ducks back into his own car and, waving one last time, takes off in the direction of Roswick.

Louis looks after him for a moment, then gets behind the wheel himself. He might still make it to the wholesaler’s in Dexeter if he hurries. Fishing out his phone, Louis shoots off a text to Niall, who has officially been instated as a new employee with his own set of keys, and lets him know that he has to open the pub without him for lunch.

Then Louis puts the car into gear and takes off.

*

“Wow, you look like shit,” is the first thing Niall says to him when Louis makes it back. “Almost worse than Harry.”

The pub is open and running - smoothly as far as Louis can tell - and he’s never been gladder to have taken Liam’s advice. He really can’t see himself facing anyone today.

“Thanks, Niall,” Louis says testily. “Tell me more.”

Niall grins at him, disgustingly cheerful. “I can tell you it was love at first sight, definitely. Not sure about getting frisky in the sand though - still a bit cold for that I think.”

“Oh my god, piss off you wanker,” Louis groans, but can’t help the tiny spark of amusement.

“Go lie down,” Niall says, a little more serious now. He pats Louis’ shoulder gently. “I’ll manage it down here. Don’t think it’ll be too busy today. There’s something going on at the UFO Centre tonight - open bar and all.”

“Ah yes.” Louis grimaces. “That whacko writer’s coming for a signing. The one who wrote _Among us_. What’s his name again?”

“James Atherton,” Niall supplies helpfully. “It’s not so bad, that book. Some good points in there, actually.”

Louis raises a brow. “You’ve read it?”

Niall shrugs. “Keep your friends close…”

“Alright, Al Pacino,” Louis says, clapping Niall on the back. “I’m going upstairs. Call me down if you need anything.”

“Will do,” Niall says. “And don’t worry, okay? He’ll come round.”

Louis doesn’t answer, but spares Niall a weak smile before leaving.

*

When Niall had said that Harry would come round, Louis wasn’t actually expecting literally. Which is why he gets a bit of a fright when he wakes from his nap to a gentle tapping at the window, only to discover Harry crouched on the other side of it.

Still disoriented, Louis grabs for his glasses and rises from the bed. Harry does look terrible, Louis notes. It doesn’t bring him any satisfaction.

“I’ve got doors, you know,” Louis says, stepping aside to make room for Harry to climb in.

“I didn’t feel like seeing anyone.”

Louis closes the window again behind him, the air still a bit biting despite the fast approaching of summer. This far north one has to wait at least until August to brave the outside without a jumper.

Except if you’re Harry Styles, apparently, who’s turned up at Louis’ window wearing nothing but a thin, short-sleeved t-shirt.

“How have you not frozen to death yet?” Louis asks, walking over to fetch the fluffy blanket he’s started keeping at the end of the bed for when his feet slip out from beneath the covers.

He’d wear socks to bed, but he doesn’t like strangling his feet in layers.

He drapes the blanket over Harry’s shoulders, careful not to touch him.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” Harry says.

“To your own comfort?”

Harry looks at him. “To anything.”

Louis sighs and rubs at his face, forgetting for a moment that he’s wearing glasses and knocking into them. He yanks them off, annoyed at himself, so he can rub at his still gritty eyes, before sliding them back on.

“Would you like to sit down?” Louis asks politely, even though the very idea of Harry anywhere near his bed is enough to make his face go hot.

“Will you sit with me?” Harry asks, almost shy.

He extends his hand to Louis, who obviously takes it without hesitation like an idiot. But Louis can’t bring himself to regret it when he sees the utter relief on Harry’s face.

They sit down across from each other with their knees knocking together and Harry still holding tightly to his hand.

“I’m-” Harry starts, but Louis cuts him off instantly.

“If you start apologising for last night again, I’ll bloody hit you,” he warns.

Harry smiles tightly.

“I wasn’t going to apologise for the night itself,” he says quietly. “I was going to apologise for how it ended.”

“You said you don’t remember anything that happened.”

“I don’t,” Harry says, fixing Louis with one of his soul-searching looks. “But it ended with me kissing you, so it can only have been something amazing.”

 _You’ll regret this tomorrow_ , Louis hears the echo of his own words repeat in his head.

_Never. I’ll still have you, won’t I?_

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I don’t know what happened last night,” Harry says slowly, his eyes never leaving Louis’. “So maybe you should kiss me again to make me remember.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in. Because Louis just can’t believe that this is finally it, that they are finally here; alone, sober and, apparently, on the same page.

He just can’t believe that after everything, they are finally on the brink of starting something, of starting _them_ , and all Louis has to do is take one more step .

Of course, Louis doesn’t just step, he fucking _leaps_. He jumps right at Harry, right into his waiting arms, crashes their lips together-

And falls straight into the universe.

*

Kissing Harry doesn’t become any less intense, but Louis really hadn’t expected it to. At least this time he is somewhat prepared for the supernovas and milky-ways flashing behind his eyes.

The whole thing is still profoundly overwhelming and Louis thinks he’ll need a lot more practice before he can properly tune into the different sensations, instead of simply being swept away by them. For now, he lets Harry hold him together while snatches from their night together flash through his mind.

They’re his own memories, Louis can tell. It’s all Harry’s eyes and hair and the soft curve of his mouth. It’s the way Louis felt - the way he always feels - so painfully, desperately in love. It’s the sensual memory of Harry painting permanent lines into his skin and leaving him utterly useless.

They draw apart slowly, only to come back together again, chasing each other’s lips with sweet little presses, neither of them wanting to break the connection.

Unsurprisingly, Louis is turned on beyond belief and this time he can feel Harry’s answering hardness right underneath him, where he’s perched on Harry’s lap. He shifts against it, unable not to, and Harry buries his moan in Louis’ neck.

Louis cradles him close, lets his fingers sink into Harry’s hair and give a gentle pull just as he grinds his hips drown in a tiny, needy circle. Harry all but flies apart in his arms, trembling like a leaf and biting into Louis’ skin, his fingers so tight on Louis’ hips that there’s sure to be bruises tomorrow.

The thought only drives Louis wilder.

But Harry’s outright shaking now, still hiding in Louis’ neck and his grip has become like a vice, keeping Louis’ hips still.

“Hey,” Louis whispers worriedly.

He gentles his hold, hugs Harry sweetly and rubs soothing palms along his shoulders. Harry sags against him, finally releasing his tight grip and moving his hands to Louis’ back, his fingers curling into Louis’ jumper.

“Baby, hey,” Louis murmurs, drawing back slightly to look at Harry’s face. He looks utterly destroyed, face flushed and eyes glassy, his curls an utter mess. Louis brushes them back with gentle hands. “You okay? What happened?”

Harry bites his lip, looking a little mortified.

“Talk to me, H,” Louis presses gently, cupping Harry’s hot cheeks. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

Harry, if possible, blushes even harder and leans in to bury his head in Louis’ chest, murmuring something completely inaudible.

“What?” Louis asks.

Harry takes a deep breath, Louis can feel his lungs filling as their chests press together.

“You almost made me come,” Harry mumbles in a rush.

“Oh,” Louis says, stunned. He hadn’t quite been expecting that. Harry makes another soft, miserable sound and Louis is quick to reassure him, hugging him close once more. “It’s okay, love, nothing to be ashamed of, alright? It doesn’t matter, none of that stupid stuff matters, as long as it feels good to you. So never worry about that, alright?”

Louis can feel some of the tension ease from Harry’s shoulders, but there’s something else, Louis can tell. Probably the perks of fusing his mind to someone else’s so many times.

This time, however, Harry doesn’t wait to be prompted.

“I’m a bit...scared,” he says, a quiet confession right into Louis’ skin.

“Of what?” Louis asks, making gentle circles against Harry’s scalp.

It seems to be helping, making Harry relax further into him.

“It’s a bit different for us,” he says, sounding a little choked and a lot awkward. “The sex thing.”

Louis can’t say he’s particularly shocked. He turns his head a little, pressing his lips to Harry’s hair, then the curve of his jaw.

“I figured,” he says, careful to keep his tone light and put Harry at ease. “Just let me know if there’s gonna be tentacles or something. I mean I wouldn’t mind, I’m so in love with you I can get used to tentacles if they’re yours. Just warn a guy, yeah?”

Thankfully, that seems to finally do it and has Harry giggling adorably into his shoulder, before finally drawing back enough look at Louis.

“No tentacles,” he says, all dimples present. “I promise.”

Louis smiles at him, and can’t help leaning in to give his nose a little, playful lick.

“Well then,” he says. “Can’t be too bad, then, can it?”

Harry’s cheeks are slowly suffusing with heat again.

“We come more than once,” he blurts out abruptly.

“Come more than once?” Louis echoes dumbly.

Harry nods. “It’s one of the reasons I stopped you. Because it’s like a build-up and- if I’d come, before, I wouldn’t have been able to stop.”

Harry must’ve noticed his fixed expression because he fidgets a bit, nervously running his palms along Louis’ sides.

“Lou?”

Louis blinks himself out of his daze.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, that’s just-” He licks his lips, feeling one step away from combusting. “Really bloody hot.”

Harry gives him a slow, relieved smile.

“Yeah?”

“Of course, fuck.”

Louis takes a few deep breaths to compose himself and Harry nuzzles against his cheek.

“I just- can we take it slow?” Harry asks softly. “Like, physically I mean,” he adds quickly. “I want to be with you. Really be with you.”

Louis gently tilts Harry’s head to barely brush their lips together, just enough to feel a brief zing of connection.

“I already told you,” he says softly, making their lips tingle as they graze each other with every word. “I’m all yours. I was yours from the moment you formed that connection between us and brought me back to life.” Louis draws back slightly, fixing Harry with a determined look. “And I don’t share.”

“Good,” Harry says, eyes fierce. “Neither do I.”

Louis smiles and presses a kiss to the tip of his nose, before sliding off Harry’s lap and stretching out on the bed beside him.

“Great,” he says. “That’s settled then.” He pats the space beside him, then opens his arms to emphasise the invitation. “Now come give us a cuddle and tell me all about alien sex.”

Harry smiles bashfully at him, but comes eagerly, pressing in close and throwing one of his long, giraffe legs over Louis’ hip. Harry, Louis finds, is an absolutely excellent cuddler. But he supposes he already knew that based on his amazing hugs.

“I don’t, like, have a lot of experience with it. Or none at all, really, except with, you know, myself.”

“You can say the word, babe,” Louis ribs him gently. “It’s called a wank.”

Harry drives a finger into his side, right into his Achilles heel, and Louis only barely keeps from squealing.

“Stop teasing me, you knob,” Harry grouses, but there’s no heat behind it. “This is hard for me okay.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Louis giggles. “I’ll be good, I promise. So, wanking.”

“Yes,” Harry says, hesitating a little before going on. “So I don’t do it all that often, because it’s kind of unfulfilling? Like it’s nice and all but it always feels like something’s missing. Like, my brain goes all fuzzy and...I don’t know how to describe it, like open, somehow. Receptive? Like it wants to connect.”

Louis hums thoughtfully. “So you need to connect to another person for it to do it for you. Makes sense, right?”

Harry draws back a bit and blinks up at him. “It does?”

Louis rolls his eyes at him fondly. “Of course it does. You can’t even kiss without supernovas going off all over the place.”

“That’s just you, though,” Harry protests.

Louis blinks at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that there wouldn’t be any supernovas with anyone else,” Harry says, sounding absolutely convinced.

“Have you ever, you know,” Louis barely even manages to get the words out. It’s stupid, the intense possessiveness he feels, the way his stomach turns and curdles with jealousy at the thought of Harry being with anyone else like this. “Kissed anyone else?”

“No,” Harry says, hands slipping beneath Louis’ jumper to feel his skin, palms hot against his spine. Louis shivers, both at the touch and the pleased rush of emotion at the admission. “Just you, but I know it anyway. We don’t just connect with anyone like this. I talked to Niall about it, you know. He’s been with a few people. Like, slept with them and stuff.”

Louis hadn’t even thought about that. He’s always so fixated on Harry he completely forgot that he knows two other aliens who might have some experience in this matter.

Harry must’ve done his mind reading thing again because he goes on without prompting.

“Isabel isn’t interested in humans, she barely manages to uphold friendships and they’re more like her fanclub than actual friends. She told me she wouldn’t touch a human _like that_ with a ten foot pole.” Harry shifts a little, curling his leg a little tighter around Louis and reeling him in closer. “But Niall likes people and he likes sex, apparently, even though he told me that it’s not that great when it comes down to it. No better than a wank, because it’s the same for him. Like, he wants to connect but can’t - or won’t I don’t know. I’m not sure if it’d work with anyone. It’s not the same as connecting to share thoughts.”

“So, no supernovas for Niall,” Louis guesses.

Harry shakes his head. “None, not with any of the people he’s kissed or been with. I didn’t even know it was possible until yesterday.”

The realisation sweeps down on Louis like an axe.

“That was your first kiss. Last night, that was your first kiss,” he says, stunned.

“Obviously,” Harry says, rolling his eyes at him. “I just told you I haven’t kissed anyone but you.”

“No wonder you freaked out,” Louis says, drawing Harry close and hugging him tightly. “I’m so sorry for walking out on you.”

“Stop that,” Harry says. “It’s not your fault I was being an idiot for so long.”

“Will you tell me?” Louis asks, feeling suddenly small. “Why you kept pushing me away?”

Harry only holds on to him tighter, his lips pressing a series of intent kisses to any patch of skin he in his reach.

“I was afraid,” he whispers eventually. “Of putting you in danger and-”

“And what?”

“And of getting my heart broken.”

Louis draws back, shocked. “Why would you think that?”

Harry bites his lip. “I was afraid I’d done something to you, like made you dependant on me or something by saving your life.”

Louis stares at him, aghast. He sits up abruptly.

“You thought you’d accidentally mind fucked me into wanting you?”

Harry makes a face.

“That’s not how I would’ve put it, but essentially yes,” he says, following Louis into a sitting position. “It’s not that far-fetched you know. I’ve been in love with you for so long, but you hardly knew I existed and suddenly you want me back after I use my powers on you? And the handprint, fuck! I thought for sure that when it fades it would mean you’d stop wanting me.”

“You knew it was going to fade?” Louis asks, not without a slight edge of accusation.

Harry shakes his head. “Of course not, but I thought it might. And Niall and Isabel weren’t sure either, about the induced feelings thing. It’s not like anyone of us has any experience with this stuff.”

“But why didn’t you talk to me?” Louis asks angrily. “You were _inside my head_ , Harry, more than once I might add. Did it never occur to you, not even once, that what I’m feeling for you might be real?”

Harry shrinks back under Louis’ wrath.

“Please, Lou,” he begs softly. “Don’t be angry with me. I was just trying so hard to do right by you. I was so confused, I didn’t know what to believe. I wanted to make the right choice for both of us, I didn’t want you to end up hating me.”

Louis deflates, letting the breath from his lungs slowly.

“You should know, at least, that I could never hate you, Harry.”

Harry nods meekly. “I know that now.”

“I get that you were scared,” Louis said. “But you should’ve talked to me.”

“I know I should’ve,” Harry says. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Louis says, wanting nothing more than to leave it all behind them. “I forgive you. Just- Please don’t do it again, okay? Promise you’ll talk to me from now on, especially if you’re making decisions involving both of us.”

“I promise,” Harry says earnestly.

He looks guilty and sad and too far away.

“Well,” Louis says impatiently, but there’s no more heat in it. “What are you doing all the way over there?”

Harry instantly springs into action, crawling across the the mattress and straight back into Louis’ arms. He’d expected to feel a little crushed beneath Harry’s weight, a little dwarfed maybe, but Harry fits into his lap as though he was made to be there and Louis instantly decides it to be one of the best things ever. Although, really, all things involving Harry are the best by default so who is he kidding.

“I really love you, you know,” Harry mumbles into his skin, lips soft and hot as they press to his throat.

“I really love you, too,” Louis says, gently biting his shoulder. “And you better believe me this time.”

“I do,” Harry says holding on tightly. “I do believe you.”

And Louis holds him back, only that this time, he knows he doesn’t have to let go again.

*

“Harry!”

The door to Louis’ bedroom flies open and Louis startles out of his doze. Harry is already tense in his arms, his back rigid where it’s pressed to Louis’ chest.

Niall is standing in the doorway, his silhouette eerily outlined by only the dim light coming in from the streetlamp in front of the window.  

“Harry,” he says again, distress clearly coming off him in waves.

The fact that it’s the usually so unruffled Niall practically vibrating with anxiety is enough to make every muscle in Louis’ body tighten in alarm.

“What’s going on, Ni?” Harry asks, straightening up into a sitting position. “What happened?”

“I’m sorry,” he says belatedly, presumably for storming into the bedroom unannounced. “But you and Louis need to come downstairs. You really need to see this.”

Louis and Harry exchange a look in the dark, before hurriedly getting up and following Niall back down the stairs where a white faced and tight lipped Isabel is already waiting.

It must be far later than Louis thought, because the pub is deserted and the small digital clock on the sound system shows that it’s almost two in the morning.

Wordlessly, Isabel takes Harry’s free hand, holding onto it like a lifeline. The fact that she barely spares Louis a glance speaks volumes.

“It’s through here,” Niall says hoarsely, nodding at the open back door.

Louis has absolutely no idea what to expect, but still nothing could have prepared him for the sight that meets him in the alley.

Because right there, on the outside wall of his pub, is the alien symbol Louis wears around his neck. Instinctively, Louis squeezes Harry’s hand, while his free one comes up to cover the gentle bump of the necklace against his chest.

“It was just there,” Niall babbles, clutching onto Isabel’s free hand. “I took out the rubbish and that’s when I saw it.”

 _It’s not like anyone can miss it_ , Louis thinks darkly, looking at the massive, unwanted mural blazing straight through the dark and bathing them all in red.

And even when Isabel briefly lets go of Niall and stretches out her hand to finally vanish the damning evidence, the fact remains.

Someone knows about them.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so first of all [RoswellOracle](http://www.roswelloracle.com/archives.html) was a big help for anything I couldn’t remember off the top of my head.
> 
> You can find depictions of the metal book [here](http://www.roswelloracle.com/destinybk.html), although my version of it has no pictures and serves an entirely different purpose than the one in the TV series. More alien symbols can be found [here](http://www.roswelloracle.com/cavemap.html). 
> 
> The triangle of stars mentioned in the story is a based on the [V-constellation](http://www.roswelloracle.com/vconstellation.html). And [here](http://www.roswelloracle.com/pods.html) are some pictures of the incubation pods.
> 
> The Ross and Well is, of course, my British spin on the [Crashdown Cafe](http://www.roswelloracle.com/crashdown.html) and if you want to have an idea about the ridiculously themed menus, you can find a post about it [here](http://www.roswelloracle.com/menu.html).
> 
> Some visuals of what I imagined Roswick and the surrounding area to look like are [here](https://dncache-mauganscorp.netdna-ssl.com/thumbseg/934/934334-bigthumbnail.jpg), [here](https://iggandfriends.files.wordpress.com/2013/01/blushing-sea.jpg), [here](http://cdn.allwallpaper.in/wallpapers/1920x1080/16060/water-landscapes-scotland-light-house-sea-1920x1080-wallpaper.jpg) and [here](http://www.southernseaventures.com/SSV/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/Scotland-05.jpg).
> 
> Oh yeah, and the Katy Perry song mentioned is, of course, [E.T.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18oYGsmUprM).
> 
> And the Korean drama about the alien allergic to human spit does actually exist and is called [My Love from the Star](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/My_Love_from_the_Star). I enjoyed it a lot and can def recommend it ^^.


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